^ 


IvIBRAKV 

OF   THE 

University  of  California. 


GIKT  OK 


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Class     '      r-  n 

E  b  o 


Prof.  Emerson, 

Dear  Sir :  I  return  my  thanks  for  your  book  of 
Poems.  I  have  read  the  handsome  volume  through  with 
interest.  It  is  an  honor  to  American  Literature.  I  par- 
ticularly noted  tbe  following  poems  :  The  Poet,  Life  and 
Death,  the  two  Birthday  Poems,  A  Reminiscence,  Bless- 
edness in  Nature,  and  The  Mountains  and  the  Plains, 
from  Denver,  and  finally,  Karl  and  Bertha,  A  Romance 
of  the  Rhine. 

I  regard  the  piece  in  blank  verse  as  most  masterly. 
It  alone  is  enough  to  make  a  reputation.  My  wite  and 
daughters,  however,  say  that  The  Romance  of  the  Rhine 
shows  the  greatest  skill  in  versification,  and  in  the  unfold- 
ing of  the  pathetic  story.     I  agree  that  it  is  admirable. 

I  have  marked  the  following  fine  sonnets  :  The 
Carnation,  The  Gem,  The  Beauty,  Peace,  Creeds,  The 
Butterfly,  Love,  The  Waves,  Birthday  of  M.  L.  E.,  Life's 
Mysteries,  On  Leaving  Munich,  Notre  Dame  de  Paris,  My 
Country,  Time  and  Space,  Sublimities,  The  Stone  Age, 
The  Storm,  Clouds,  Night,  Wings,  A  Vision,  and  the 
beautiful  Dedication  to  Mrs.  Hearst. 

Rest  assured  that  when  this  book  becomes  known, 
your  fame  is  secured. 

I  am,  very  respectfully,  yours, 

John  Wii^liams. 


Some  of  the  Poems  in  this  volume 
have  already  been  published  in  The 
Christian  Register,  ot  Boston:  The 
Public  Opinion,  of  New  York:  The 
Open  Court,  of  Chicago:  Tm  Con- 
servative, of  Nebraska  City:  The  Re- 
publican, of  Denver,  Four  or  more  of 
the  longer  Poems  have  been  printed 
for  private  circulation.  The  cordial 
reception  they  have  received  from  liter- 
ary friends  leads  the  author  to  publish 
them  in  this  somewhat  more  permanent 
form. 


^/-^  ^4-^\,.'V ,  ^-^  ^    \  Vi  \ 


EDWIN  EMERSON.  M.  A. 

ENGRAVED   FOR   THE  CENTURY  CO., 
FROM   THE   PORTRAIT  BY    FRANZ   VON   LENBACH. 


POEMS 


BY 


EDWIN     EMERSON,     M.A 


DENVER,     COLORADO 

THE     CARSON- HARPER    COMPANY 

1901 


COPYRIGHT,    1901 

BY 
EDWIN  EMERSON 


CONTENTS 


Page 

Dedication 3 

On  Friendship 5 

In  Tune  with  Birds 6 

On  New  Year's  Eve 7 

Man's  Chief  End 8 

The  Carnation 9 

The  Poet 10 

To  the  Star  Sirius 12 

Aspirations 14 

The  Gem 16 

The  Gifts  of  Nature 17 

The  Beauty 18 

Peace 19 

Evolution 20 

To  My  Cat 22 

Young  Simmons .    .  23 

On  a  Fashionable  Belle 27 

Sleep 28 

Insane 30 

Change 34 

Immortality 36 

A  Prayer  to  Pan 38 

Life  and  Death 40 

A  Reconnaissance 42 

Incentives  to  Work 44 

A  New  Year  Greeting 47 

Lines  Suggested  by  the  Departure  of  Mrs.  and  Miss 

Iv.  for  Egypt,  October,  1892      48 

Wiegenlied 50 

Cradle  Song 51 

Lines  Suggested  by  the  Sailing  of   Mrs.  A.  E.  and 

Her  Two  Daughters  for  the  U.  S 52 

For  the  Wedding 55 

The  Monk  of  Tyrol 56 

The  Valley  and  the  Mountain 64 

A  Parting 66 

The  Flight  of  the  Birds 67 

To  the  Portrait  of  Mrs.  S.  D.  Ingham 68 

Assassination  of  President  Carnot 69 

The  Timid  Lover     70 


Page 

A  New  Day 73 

The  Journey  of  Life 75 

Ein  Lebenslauf 83 

Reflections  on  Life 90 

In  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  at  Dublin 99 

An  Optimist 100 

Sketch  of  a  Philosophy 102 

Creeds 107 

At  Harrow 108 

The  Butterfly 109 

A  Retrospect .    .  no 

The  Clerk  Across  the  Way H2 

Chagrin 115 

Sei  Still  Mein  Herz 116 

Be  Still  My  Heart 118 

Love 120 

The  Waves 121 

On  The  Birthday  Of  M.  L.  E.,  Nov.  30 122 

Life's  Mysteries 123 

The  Stone  Age 124 

Progress      125 

My  Country 126 

The  Cosmos 127 

Sunset 129 

Sublimities 130 

Time  and  Space 131 

Desponding 132 

Flowers 133 

On  Leaving  Munich 134 

Translation 135 

In  the  Garden  of  The  Luxembourg 136 

Notre  Dame  De  Paris 137 

A  Reminiscence 138 

The  Storm      141 

Beauty  and  Truth 142 

Immortality 143 

Clouds 144 

Reveries  of  Childhood 145 

An  Aged  Man's  Experience 146 

Night 149 

The  Glowing  Coals 150 

To  Duty 151 

At  a  Symphony  of  Beethoven 152 

The  Morningside  Park,  New  York  City 153 

The  Spirit's  Power 154 

A  Vision 156 

Wings 157 

Blessedness  In  Nature 158 

The  Rocky  Mountains  and  The  Plains,  From  Denver  159 

Karl  and  Bertha  :  A  Romance  of  the  Rhine    ....  165 


©ebtcatton. 


TO   MRS.   PHOEBE  A.   HEARST. 

This  law  rules  all  our  varied  human  life, 

By  labor  only  we  attain  our  best. 

Great  talent,  glittering  genius,  know  this  test; 
And  use  their  force  to  conquer  in  the  strife. 
Desponding  moments  come ;  dark  days  are  rife ; 

Desire  for  sympathy  burns  in  the  breast; 

Then,  when  man's  spirit  yearns  for  needed  rest, 
God's  gift  is  woman !     Mother,  sister,  wife ! 
Large-hearted  woman,  with  the  gifted  mind! 
Of  others   thoughtful,    sacrificing  ease. 

How  many  grateful  hearts  extol  thy  worth ! 
Another  like  thee  will  be  hard  to  find; 

So  true,  so  good,  the  wise  so  sure  to  please; 

An  honor  to  the  land  that  gave  thee  birth ! 

Munich^  1893. 


—  3- 


POEMS  BY  EDWIN  EMERSON,  M.  A. 


ON  FRIENDSHIP. 

Yea,  'tis  the  glory  of  the  mind, 
It  has  the  power  to  know  and  find 
Its  kindred-spirit,  true  and  kind. 
To  mutual  confidence  inclined; 
Oh!  rare  and  happy  gift! 

The  quick,  warm  pressure  of  the  hand ; 
A  readiness  to  understand ; 
No  wish  to  rule  or  show  command ; 
A  perfect  trust  the  sole  demand. 
Oh!  rare  and  happy  gift! 

Respect  is  mutual  and  sincere; 
The  thoughts  are  free,  the   words  are  clear 
Our  better-self  without  a  fear 
We  show  the  one  who  holds  us  dear. 
Oh!  rare  and  happy  gift! 

Far  from  the  struggling,  busy  mart, 
I  turn  to  seek  the  better  part ; 
To  find  my  friend ;  then  comes  the  art ; 
To  hold,  fast  hold  the  trusting  heart. 
Oh!  rare  and  happy  gift! 

Princeton,  1845. 

-5- 


IN  TUNE  WITH  BIRDS. 

In  the  morning,  blythe  I  sing ; 

For  the  new  day  opens  well ; 
Far  beyond  imagining, 

Novel  splendors  rise  and  swell. 

And  I  sing  at  noontide  bright; 

For  the  day  has  steadily  grown 
Clear  and  warm  and  full  of  light, 

As  the  sun  nears  mid-day  throne. 

In  the  evening  hour,  the  skies, 

All  emblazoned  regally, 
Tinct  with  colors  God  supplies, 

Make  me  sing  in  ecstasy. 

Oh !  to  me  a  pressing  need, 

Thus  to  sing,  to  ease  my  heart ; 

Like  the  birds,  my  life  I   lead; 
In  their  chorus  I  take  part. 

But,  in  thought,  like  them  I  fly. 
And  I  sing  that  I  may  gain 

Empyrean  joys  on  high  ; 

Loosed  forever  from  earth's  pain. 

Princeton,  1845 

-6- 


ON  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 

The  days  and  months  and  years  pass  by, 
And  we  are  borne  from  youth  to  age; 
The  common  lot. 
But,  as  the  moments  swiftly  fly, 

How  oft  we  make  upon  life's  page 
A  sad,  sad  blot. 

Oh !  may  the  new  and  untried  year, 
If  all  its  hours  are  spared  to  life, 
A  change  behold! 
Less  that  is  sad;  more  that  may  cheer; 
More  of  sweet  love  and  less  of  strife; 
As  we  grow  old. 

Then  may  our  years,  our  months,  our  days, 
Prove  each  one  brighter  than  the  last, 
Links  in  a  chain 
To  bind  our  lives  in  love's  embrace; 
And  so  secure,  when  all  are  past. 
That  death  be  gain. 

Greencastle,  Pa.,  1859. 

—  7  — 


MAN'S  CHIEF  END. 

What!  am  I  truly  born  to  live, 

To  school  my  powers  in  this  g-lad  earth? 
Then  to  this  end  my  all  I  give, 

To  perfect  what  began  at  birth. 

The  body,  wondrously  made; 

Richly  endowed,  as  Fortune's  child ; 
Demands  the  use  of  every  aid, 

To  keep  this  temple  undefiled. 

The  power  to  think,  the  power  to  feel, 
Within  the  temple  deep  enshrined; 

What  force !  what  heights !  what  depths !  reveal 
The  microcosm  of  the  mind. 

To  love  the  good ;  to  curb  the  will ; 

'Tis  moral  insight  gives  control; 
'Mid  passion's  storm,  says — Peace;  be  still! 

The  crowning  glory  is  the  soul ! 

Sacred  man's  triune  mystery! 

How  infinite  the  priceless  dower! 
Devoted  let  it  be  to  Thee! 

Author  of  every  human  power! 

June,  I862. 


THE  CARNATION. 

At  first  the  life  dwelt  in  the  tiny  seed ; 

Then  heat  and  moisture  caused  the  cells  to  swell; 
More  room,  more  room,  became  a  pressing  need ; 

A  rootlet  downward  pushed  where  waters  dwell. 

Then  in  the  depths  of  the  subconscious  heart, 
Came  strong  attraction  for  the  chemic  light; 

The  gemmule  made  its  upward-reaching  start, 
And  sought  the  air  as  its  undoubted  right. 

Next,  stem  and  leaves,  and  branches  ever  new, 
Bestow'd  their  grace,  evolving  in  the  sun; 

And  all  the  parts  in  fit  proportion  grew; 

And  now,  at  last,  the  glorious  work  is  done! 

Not  yet ;  the  iiozver,  consummate,  lovely,  rare, 
With  beauty  charms,  with  perfume  fills  the  air! 


—  9- 


THE   POET. 

The  poet  sings  his  ever-varied  strain ; 

Though  oft  he  sings  it  to  himself  alone ; 
At  times  with  joy,  at  times  wath  keenest  pain, 

He  fills  all  hearts  by  pouring  forth  his  own. 

He  walks  apart,  communing  with  the  skies, 

Or  holding  converse  with  earth's  changing  forms ; 

With  sympathy  observes  the  bird  that  flies. 
And  notes  the  courses  of  the  winds  and  storms. 

The  secret  yields  to  his  persistent  gaze; 

The  hidden  life,  deep  motive,  he  reveals; 
Reflects  on  what  to  others  seems  a  maze ; 

And  knows  himself,  and  why  he  thinks  and  feels. 

He  reads  his  fellows  as  they  pass  him  by. 
His  mind  illumined  by  an  inner  light ; 

And  all  the  social  intricacies  lie 
As  if  untangled  to  his  keener  sight. 


The  present,  and  its  value,  he  can  tell. 

And  why  our  lives  must  pass  from  stage  to  stage; 
And  each  day's  lessons  having  noted  well, 

Proclaims  in  song  the  spirit  of  the  age. 

As  science  conquers  realms  of  knowledge  new, 
And  opens  fields  to  men  before  untrod, 

The  wealth  of  beauty,  and  the  unending  view, 
He  welcomes  as  the  benizons  of  God. 

Though  dim  the  future,  prophet-like,  as  seer, 
He  heralds  all  its  promise  for  mankind, 

When  what  is  undreamed  now,  will  be  more  clear, 
And,  all  bonds  bursting,  life  be  unconfined ! 


TO  THE  STAR  SIRIUS. 

Glorious,  brightest  star! 
At  open  window,  in  the  clear,  cold  night, 
In  silent  thought,  I  stand  and  gaze  afar, 

On  thy  supernal  light. 

In  countless  ages  past. 
Before  our  sun  and  system  rolled  in  space, 
Thy  mighty  orb,  in  circuit  far  more  vast, 

Began  its  giant  race. 

Dazed  by  thy  flaming  course, 
No  wonder  sages  of  earth's  earlier  time, 
Imputed  to  thy  rays  mysterious  force. 

Persistent  and   sublime. 

At  last,  our  minds  awake; 
A  later  science  has  dissolved  that  spell ; 
Exact,  impressive  now  the  means  we  take. 

Thy  parallax  to  tell. 

On  light's  swift,  tireless  wings, 
Throbbing  through  years,  thy  matchless  rays  descend. 
And  reach  the  earth  to  herald  brighter  things 

The  starry  heavens  send. 


Thy  beams  reveal  to  man 
A  power  so  great  it  fills  the  mind  with  awe ; 
Yet,  all  embraced  within  the  august  plan, 

Implies  the  reign  of  law. 

So,  when  I  see  thee  blaze, 
In  the  wide  vault  of  night's  resplendent  sky. 
Thou  art  a  torch  of  knowledge,  and  thy  rays 

Guide  my  rapt  soul  on  high. 

Returned,  with  thoughts  aglow. 
To  this  small  planet  where  my  duty  lies, 
My  nobler  self,  illumined  by  thee,  shall  show 

Communion  with  the  skies. 


-13- 


ASPIRATIONS. 


May  I  be  taught  by  cheerful  birds  that  sing-, 

Although  they  know  not  if  their  food  to-day, 
Kind  nature,  with  her  usual  grace,  may  bring, 
And,  by  her  bounty,  hunger's  pangs  allay. 
Behold !  they  upward  fly ! 

How  blythe,  and  free  from  care! 
So  would  I  soar  on  high, 
And  breathe  a  purer  air. 


May  I  be  taught  by  the  vast,  starry  dome. 

Which  renders  so  magnificent  the  night, 
That  this  small  earth  is  not  the  spirit's  home; 
It  dwells  in  thought  amid  the  spheres  of  light! 
Far,  far,  it  flies ; 

In  ecstacy  it  sings, 
Glad  hope  which  never  dies, 
Upholds  its  tireless  wings. 


May  I  be  taught  by  what  my  spirit  feels. 

Through  intimations  from  the  hoary  past, 
Which,   from  what  has  been,  what  shall  be  reveals; 
So  that,  upon  my  path  more  light  is  cast. 
For  growth,  'tis  wise  to  heed 
Each  hint  of  nature's  plan; 
And  follow  what  may  lead 
Up  to  more  perfect  man. 


May  I  be  taught  life's  many  woes  to  bear, 

With  constant  patience,  silent,  thoughtful,  wise; 
But,  may  I  with  my  suffering  brother  share, 
The  solace  true  philosophy  supplies. 
Immortal  truth  is  free, 

Is  uncontrolled  by  time. 
Demands  eternity, 

And  makes  man's  life  sublime! 


15- 


THE  GEM. 

Far  in  the  past  a  small  and  jagged  stone 
Was  by  plutonic  forces  rolled  and  ground 
In  mighty  torrents,  "mid  volcanic  sound, 

And.  mixed  with  sand,  into  the  ocean  thrown. 

Deep  in  a  watery  cave,  but  not  alone, 

It  lay  where  myriad  forms  of  life  abound, 
And,  after  stormy  stress  long  rest  was  found ; 

While  far  above  the  primal  sunlight  shone. 

Then  came  a  cycle  of  stupendous  change; 
The  fluid  mass,  by  natural  powers  led. 
Rushed  off,  and  left  exposed  the  pebble's  bed. 

Ages  swept  by,  filled  with  the  new  and  strange. 

When  man  appeared,  he  found  the  latent  gem, 
And  set  it  sparkling  in  his  diadem ! 


—  i6  — 


THE  GIFTS  OF  NATURE. 

Delighted,  to  my  fellows,  I  would  cry, — 

Behold !  in  common  things,  what  grace  is  found ! 

Each  gift  of  nature  with  perfection  crowned! 
Bring  we  the  open  mind,  the  seeing  eye. 
The  ignorant  are  blind;  'tis  vain  to  try 
To  make  them  see  the  glodes  all  around, 
Which  spring  with  vigor  from  the  fertile  ground, 
Or,  so  profusely,  in  their  pathway  lie. 
With  sordid  aims,  they  grovel  in  the  dust ; 

And  beauty  infinite  remains  concealed; 
The  loss  increasing  as  the  sad  years  roll. 
This  is  the  law,  inexorable,  just, — 

The  seeker  finds,  to  him  is  truth  revealed ; 
But,  in  the  measure  furnished  by  the  soul. 


-  17 


THE   BEAUTY. 

Ah!  what  a  charm  the  beauty  of  her  face! 

And  how  the  soul  seems  speaking  in  her  eyes ! 

Sweet,  tender,  thoughtful ;  it  is  a  surprise 
A  girl  so  young  should  show  such  matchless  grace. 

Old  as  I  am,  'tis  wonderful  to  trace 

Th'  effects  which  from  such  loveliness  arise; 
My  judgment  captured,  reason  prostrate  lies; 

My  heart  is  touched,  warm  feelings  flow  apace. 

Her  voice,  her  glance,  her  mien,  her  perfect  pose, 
And  something  indescribable,  blend  all 
In  an  impression,  life-long  to  remain. 
And,  as  the  spell  continues,  it  still  grows 
More  certain  in  its  power  to  enthrall 

The  willing  captives  in  its  numerous  train. 


— 18- 


PEACE. 

Come !  gentle  peace !  dwell  with  me  evermore ! 

Too  long  Tve  wandered  up  and  down  the  world ; 
And  known  its  losses,  felt  its  trials  sore ; 

From  blissful  heights  been  deep  to  anguish  hurled. 
But,  since  I  use  philosophy  to  cure, 

I  see  how  vain  are  all  our  petty  throes. 
Where  things  must  ebb  and  flow  sublimely  sure ; 

Now  bringing  joy,  and  now  unsealing  woes. 
For  what  is  man  amid  this  wond'rous  scene. 

Where  countless  suns  and  planets  hang  in  space  ? 
How  measure  his  brief  life  which  in  between 

Two  dread  eternities  completes  its  race? 
Now  the  calm  goddess,  Peace,  reigns  in  my  soul; 
For  I  perceive  Fm  part  of  one  great  whole. 


-19- 


EVOLUTION. 

In  ages  long  past,  through  millions  of  years, 

The  earth  was  preparing  for  man; 
By  steps  slow  but  sure  it  plainly  appears. 

Fair  Nature  worked  out  her  great  plan. 

When  water  was  made,  then  fish  swam  the  sea; 

On  dry  land,  came  reptiles  to  creep; 
Through  oceans  of  air,  expansive  and  free, 

The  birds  with  their  strong  wings  could  sweep. 

On  wide-spreading  plains  browsing  herds  fed  at  ease ; 

In  jungles  prowled  fierce  beasts  of  prey; 
From  flower  to  flower  swift  flitted  the  bees, 

Or  butterflies  charmingly  gay. 

And  thus,  for  each  phase  in  life's  onward  swell. 

Most  splendid  creations  arose. 
When  wonderful  beings  lived  long  and  well, 

Till  their  epoch  came  to  its  close. 

And  then  the  time  came  when  most  things  seemed  rife, 

To  introduce  man  on  the  earth; 
Yet  Nature  delayed,  and  this  new  form  of  life 

Refused  to  announce  its  safe  birth. 


So,  fishes  plowed  on  in  the  vast  ancient  seas; 

Aloft  birds  delighted  to  soar ; 
And  monkeys  continued  to  climb  in  the  trees, 

Gorillas  in  forests  to  roar. 

At  the  last,  fair  Nature  arose ;  in  her  hand 

She  bore  a  most  beautiful  vine; 
'Twas  planted  with  care ;  she  then  gave  command  ;- 

"Now  man  may  appear !    Here  is  wine !" 


TO  MY  CAT. 

At  times  so  playful  after  welcome  feast; 

But,  usually  demure,  in  sober  guise. 

(Throug-h  contemplation,  seemingly  most  wise,) 
Thou  sittest  tranquil,  from  all  care  released. 
But,  ever  and  anon,  oh  tidy  beast ! 

Intent  on  toilet  duties,  thoughts  arise, 

Impelling  thee  to  wash,  till  thy  coat  lies 
As  smooth  as  velvet,  when  thy  task  has  ceased. 
But.  let  a  strange  cat  enter  on  the  scene ; 

Green  eyes   flash   fire,   thy  body  swells  with   rage, 
And  every  jealous  hair  stands  out  wath  spite. 
To  thy  own  nature  true,  naught  comes  between 

Thine  instincts  and  their  action.     That  is  sage. 
When  thou  art  threatened,  ready  for  a  fight! 


YOUNG  SIMMONS. 

Young  Simmons  loved  Lucinda  fair, 
She  filled  his  heart  and  mind, 

And  he  was  happy  in  the  thought 
She  was  to  him  inclined ; 

But,  when  he  screwed  his  courage  up, 

And  asked  if  she  would  be 
His  life's  companion, — she   looked  grave, 

And  said  she  was  not  free. 

At  this,  surprised,  young  Simmons  sought 

For  explanation  clear; 
He,  all  along,  had  felt  so  sure 

There  was  no  rival  near. 

Lucinda  brushed  a  tear  aside. 
And  said,  he  well  might  know 

She  could  not  leave  her  dear  mamma, 
'Twould  break  her  heart  to  go. 

Then  open-hearted  Simmons  said, 
That  need  not  mar  their  bliss, 

Mamma  could  come  and  live  with  them ; 
Her  daughter  never  miss. 

-23  — 


Lucinda  said,  she  always  felt 

He  was  a  generous  man ; 
And  if  mamma  could  live  with  them, 

'Twould  be  a  perfect  plan. 

So  Simmons  kissed  the  yielding  girl, 

She  named  the  happy  day. 
When  they  could  wed,  and  start  their  home, 

Where  dear  mamma  could  stay. 

Then  they  were  married  in  due  form, 

And  Simmons  and  his  wife. 
Started,  in  love  and  hope,  to  seek 

The  joys  of  married  life. 

And,  truth  to  tell,  it  must  be  said, 

Mamma  turned  out  a  treasure ; 
She  saved,  she  sew'd,  she  labored  hard ; 

For  her  to  work  was  pleasure. 

Months  passed;   Lucinda's   cousins  dear, 

Miss  Jane  and  Anna  Brown, 
Tired  of  country  life,  resolved 

To  come  and  live  in  town ; 


Lucinda  and  mamma  urged  both 

Awhile  with  them  to  stay; 
They  were  much  pleased,  and  stayed  so  well, 

They  never  went  away. 

And  soon,  when  Uncle  Abner  wrote, 

That  his  dear  wife  had  died, 
The  ladies  four  his  loss  bewailed, 

And  for  the  Uncle  cried; 

So  much  they  wept  and  talked,  at  last, 
To  Simmons  'twas  made  clear. 

No  peace  could  dwell  with  them  again, 
Till  Abner  should  appear. 

And  so,  perforce,  he  gave  consent, 
Uncle  with  them  should  dwell ; 

Thus  Uncle  Abner  promptly  came, 
And  with  him  came  as  well. 

Two  lively  boys,  of  romping  age, 
Who  filled  the  house  with  din; 

By  which  young  Simmons  realized 
The  bedlam  he  was  in. 

-25  — 


And  this  he  realized  so  well 

That  clearly  he  did  see, 
'Twas  at  his  club  he  could  have  peace, 

And  only  there  be  free. 

Thus  he  avoided  all  he  could 
The  noisy,  so-called  home. 

And  was  induced  by  other  men, 
In  devious  paths  to  roam; 

The  demon  Drink  seized  hold  of  him ; 

He  fell  an  easy  prey ; 
And  oft  was  heard,  Oh !  fatal  words ! 

To  curse  his  wedding  day. 

Too  late,  Lucinda.   foolish  wife, 
By  these  sad  signs  was  led. 

To  feel  that  love  for  her,  alas ! 
In  Simmons'  heart  was  dead. 

Then,  ladies  all,  this  truth  recall, — 

Between  a  man  and  wife. 
Too  many  relatives  may  crowd. 

And  ruin  married  life. 


ON  A  FASHIONABLE  BELLE. 

True,  she's  a  very  pretty  girl ; 

Her  eyes  are  bright,  I  find ; 
Her  clothes  are  fashionably  made ; 

But  there's  no  trace  of  mind. 

With  hair  arranged  in  latest  style, 

And  with  a  certain  art; 
External  is  her  charming  smile; 

She  shows  no  sign  of  heart. 

A  tale  of  woe  to  her  I  told; — 

Father  and  mother  dead, 
Three  children  shivering  in  the  cold;- 

Not  one  kind  word  was  said. 

Even  the  marble  statue's  grace 
Is  more  than  grace  of  form; 

The  living  soul  beams  in  the  face, 
Or  shows  wild  passion's  storm. 

Give  me  the  woman  in  whose  breast 
Soft  feelings  ebb  and  flow ; 

What  care  I  how  the  form  is  drest 
That  lacks  all  heartfelt  glow? 

-27  — 


SLEEP. 


Come  gentle  sleep,  and  close  mine  eyes! 
For,  though  the  conscious  life  we  prize, 
One  oft  for  the  unconscious  sighs. 


Come,  still  this  tumult  in  my  brain, 
This  sense  of  weariness  and  pain, 
These  sad  regrets,  so  clearly  vain. 


Must  I  enumerate  each  ill, 

And  fret  and  fume  against  my  will. 

Too  weak  to  order — Peace !  be  still ! 


In  thought  I  now  renew  that  strife; 
I  add  words  sharper  than  a  knife. 
To  wound  and  fester  throughout  life. 

Oh !  make  this  weary  worry  cease. 
This  inner  tumult  sink  to  peace. 
Deep  slumber  grant  a  kind  release. 

—  28- 


Quench  anxious   thoughts  and  visions  drear, 
They  fill  my  very  soul  with  fear; 
I  yearn  for  rest  when  they  appear. 

Softly  the  heavy  eyelids  close, 

Slowly  I  sink  into  repose, 

Dim'd  the  perception  of  my  woes. 

As  conscious  life  I  now  forsake, 
What  matters  if  I  never  wake; 
But,  sleep  in  peace,  without  a  break? 


-29- 


INSANE. 


In  this  strange  world  of  ours  events  take  place, 
Some  grave,  some  gay,  but  all  without  defense ; 

These  call  for  pity,  those  meet  with  disgrace ; 
All  seem  to  violate  plain  common  sense. 

But,  after  pros  and  cons,  it  is  too  plain. 

Our  sorry  world  is  very  far  from  sane. 


When  in  my  study,  busied  with  my  books. 
The  witless  servant  opens  wide  the  door, 

Alas !  well  known  is  this  intruder's  looks ; 
His  vacant  face,  his  inane  smile, — a  Bore. 

He  stays,  and  talks  of  nothing;  'tis  with  pain, 

I  keep  my  temper, — thinking  him  insane. 


When  strolling  careless,  in  the  crowded  street, 
A  little  elbowed,  jostled   here  and  there, 

Pleased,  now  and  then,  a  valued  friend  to  greet, 
I  find  my  pocket  picked,  and  I  could  swear ; 

But,  I  suppress  my  wrath  with  this  refrain, — 

Who  robs  poor  me,  of  course,  must  be  insane. 
-30- 


That  handsome  girl  I  once  could  call  my  friend, 
Refined,  well-bred  by  kind,  parental  care, 

Allowed  sound  judgment  then  and  there  to  end, 
When  led  astray  by  love's  deceitful  snare. 

A  life  most  wretched  was  her  only  gain. 

How  deep  my  grief!     I  sigh, — she  was  insane. 


And  the  young  man,  who  finds  the  world  most  gay, 
With  courage  high, — a  product  of  good  health, — 

Enamored,  gives  both  sense  and  heart  away; 
Proposes   marriage,    counts   on   future   wealth. 

No  thought  of  cares  and  pains,  and  all  their  train. 

For  him,  but  one  excuse. — he  is  insane. 


And  those  who  dwarf  their  minds,  and  sell  the  soul, 
For  that  which  merely  money  seems  to  give ; 

Becoming  slaves  of  pelf,  lose  self-control; 
Give  up  the  worth  of  life,  that  they  may  live. 

What  folly  this  !    Their  case  is  very  plain. 

Moved  by  contempt,  we  say, — they  are  insane. 

—  31  — 


Some  families  we  know,  with  means  for  ease, 
Who  live  exactly  as  their  neighbors  do; 

Same  forms,  same  food,  much  like  the  ants  and  bees, 
Same  style  of  house,  furnished  the  same  all  through. 

For  real  life  such  people  live  in  vain. 

We  laugh  at  such  crude  sameness, — 'tis  insane. 


Alas !  too  oft  we  see,  and  long  to  save. 

Rare  men  of  worth,  but  downwardly  inclined; 

Who  follow  vicious  appetites,  and  crave 

The  drunkard's  cup,  which  stupejfies  the  mind; 

With  weakened  will,  not  able  to  abstain, 

From  what  they  know  must  render  them  insane. 


Then  how  explain  that  estimable  man. 
True  as  a  friend,  beloved  by  his  wife, 

The  guide  revered,  to  whom  the  children  ran. 

As  tower  of  strength,  firm  mid  the  storms  of  life ; 

Who  turns  defaulter,  trusts  betrays   for  gain. 

We  stand  amazed ;  he  surely  was  insane. 

-32  — 


Throughout  all  grades  of  animated  things. 

Kind  nature's  plan,  though  often  causing  strife, 

If  kept  in  view,  this  right  solution  brings, — 
She  gives  to  all  an  innate  love  of  life. 

We  can  but  say,  when  men  this  gift  disdain, 

All  suicides  are  certainly  insane. 


Yea,  in  the  church,  truth  forces  us  to  write, 
A  topsy-turvy  rule  sometimes  appears; 

Men  choose  the  black,  and  gravely  call  it  white ; 
Indulge  in  pious  feelings  for  long  years; 

But  lose  morality ;  as  medicine  take  bane ; 

Deceive  themselves  ;  poor  hypocrites ; — insane. 


"  'Tis  a  mad  world !"  as  Shakespeare  wrote  of  old ; 

For  the  strange  riddle  we  have  found  a  key; 
Plain  common  sense  can  not  be  bought  or  sold ; 

Nor  can  we  from  the  fools  to  safety  flee. 
Why  weep,  and  give  ourselves  a  useless  pain  ? 
Let  us  take  comfort, — we  are  all  insane! 


—  33- 


CHANGE. 

Through  the  dread  universe  we  range, 
And  meet  one  law, — the  law  of  change ; 
From  distant  spheres  to  tiny  fly, 
All  moves  or  lives,  and  all  must  die. 

Earth  in  her  orbit  gently  swings, 
And  marks   with  change    all  earthly    things; 
The  mountains  even,  though  sublime, 
Yield  slowly  to  "the  tooth  of  time." 

The  heaving  oceans  rise  and  fall. 
In  their  wide  flow  around  this  ball, 
The  circling  winds,  on  wings  most  free. 
All  show  mutation  ceaselessly. 

And  all  the  forests,  all  the  leaves. 

All  waving  grain-fields,  all  the  sheaves, 

All  the  flowers  and  the  grass, 

Mark  changing  seasons  as  they  pass. 

Each  day  brings  on  the  new  and  strange, 
Man  is,  himself,  the  sport  of  change; 
Sweet  infancy  to  youth  will  lead, 
And  manhood  must  to  youth  succeed. 


And,  when  ripe  manhood's  years  are  past, 
Revered  old  age  arrives  at  last ; 
Then  calmly  waits,  unmoved  by  fears, 
Until  the  final  change  appears. 


-35 


"—This  life  flies ; 
One  thing  is  certain  and  the  rest  is  Lies  ; 
The  flower  that  once  has  blown  forever  dies." 
— Omar  Khayyam. 


IMMORTALITY. 

Our  aged,  sage-like  friend  at  last  is  dead; 

Eternal  calm  reigns  in  the  rigid  face ; 
The  white  hair  curled  about  the  noble  head, 

Lends  the  domed  brow,  even  in  death,  a  grace. 

A  solemn  hush  prevails  around  the  bier; 

All  feel  how  serious  is  the  end  of  life; 
And  such  a  life !  to  most  it  is  not  clear, 

Why  it  should  end,  and  close  its  manly  strife. 

And  some  surmise  this  span  cannot  be  all 

The  space  and  scope  for  excellence  so  great; 

That  such  large  stores  of  knowledge  should  not  fall 
At  once  to  nothing,  by  decree  of  fate. 

And  some, — like  Socrates,  hemlock  in  hand, — 
Are  sure  man's  spirit  will  outlast  the  force 

Of  every  earthly  change ;  and  thus  command 
A  higher,  nobler,  everlasting  course. 
-36- 


When  man  begins,  to  death  he  seems  to  tend; 

Body  and  spirit  cannot  disjoined  be; 
All  other  life  grows,  culminates,  the  end 

Affords  no  promise  of  eternity. 

When,  having  lived,  we  long  for  endless  joy, 
How  vain,  unreasoning  the  idle  dream! 

Better  by  far  so  all  our  powers  employ, 
That  dying  closes  fittingly  the  scene! 

What  pleasure  high  to  pass  through  every  stage, 
From  infancy  through  youth  to  manhood's  prime; 

With  wisdom  dignify  a  green,  old  age, 
Then  gently  pass  away  in  peace  sublime ! 

So,  our  dear  friend,  after  his  well-spent  years. 

Ceases  from  labor,  gains  repose  of  mind ; 
Yet,  lives  in  loving  hearts ;  deathless  appears 

The  perfect  character  he  leaves  behind ! 


37 


A  PRAYER  TO  PAN. 

Grant  me  thine  aid,  Oh !  dear  god  Pan ! 
That  I  may  be  an  earnest  man ! 
As  time  creeps  on,  I  pray  to  be 
From  the  worst  human  frailties  free. 

And  though  I  feel  I'm  growing  old, 
And  blood  once  warm  is  waxing  cold, 
I  ask  not  youth,  nor  love,  nor  health, 
And  certainly,  I  ask  not  wealth. 

From  Vanity  draw  off  my  eyes. 
Shield  me  from  its  pretentious  lies. 
Nor  let  it  nestle  in  my  heart. 
And  make  me  play  the  weakling's  part. 

If  others  gain  deserved  success. 
Favored  by  Fortune's  kind  caress, 
All  envy  truly  let  me  shun, 
My  peace  secured  by  duty  done. 

Keep  Parsimony  from  control. 
By  stealthy  meanness,  of  my  soul ; 
But,  while  a  frugal  life  I  live, 
May  I,  like  nature,  nobly  give. 


38- 


Here  I  present  the  sweet,  new  wine, 
And  honey,  at  this  rustic  shrine; 
Oh !  genial  god  of  flocks  and  herds, 
Do  not  disdain  my  sober  words. 

So  may  I  till  my  little  farm. 

And  guard  my  sheep  and  goats   from  harm. 

Heed  all  the  portents  of  the  skies, 

And  note  the  stars  that  set  and  rise. 


—  39- 


LIFE  AND  DEATH. 

When  life  began  we  mortals  cannot  know; 

'Twas  weak  at  first,  yet  blest  with  power  to  grow; 

Now,  world-wide  life  claims  lineage  divine. 

The  march  of  ages  was  majestic,  slow ; 
Man  came  full  late,  his  savage  life  was  low ; 
Yet,  the  great  brow  was  godlike  reason's  shrine. 

To  think,  reflect,  and  moral  insight  show; 
To  rule  oneself,  lest  gusts  of  passion  blow; 
No  traits  like  these  the  lives  of  brutes  refine. 

Live  humanly;  thus  life  like  fire  will  glow; 

It  is  not  life  to  grovel  here  below ; 

High  thoughts,  good  deeds,  true  love, — such  life  be  mine! 

The  soul  must  live;  and  let  the  vain  world  go; 
The  strenuous  life, — too  oft  a  life  of  woe, — 
Will  merge  at  last  into  a  peace  benign. 

But,  life  hath  sorrows,  tears  unbidden  flow. 
And  cares  increase,  and  pain — it  waxeth  so; 
Death  would  befriend,  yet  we  his  aid  decline. 


Man  clings  to  life  for  what  it  can  bestow; 

Misjudges  death  as  life's  relentless  foe; 

But,  life  and  death,  for  noblest  ends,  combine. 

Let  friendly  death  discharge  the  debt  we  owe, 
And  all  the  ills  of  conscious  life  o'erthrow; 
Then,  living  soul,  shall  life's  best  gift  be  thine ! 


A  RECONNAISSANCE. 

Our  start  was  exultant,  we  brooked  no  delays ; 

We  trusted  our  leaders,  and  gallop'd  along; 

Reconnaissance  this,  and  one  thousand  men  strong; 
All  thirsting  for  glory,  and  certain  of  praise. 

Thus  forwards,  and  over  a  wide,  grassy  plain; 

Some  miles  we  had  come,  then  beheld  a  ravine ; 

The  road  passed  straight  through  it,  a  change  in  the  scene. 
We  halted.     Our  scouts  dashed  ahead  of  the  train. 

At  length  they  returned,  and  soon  made  their  report ; — 
The  passage  was  clear,  and  no  sign  of  the  foe. 
Then  quickly  in  saddle,  and  onwards  we  go; 

A  cautious,  slow,  watchful  and  compact  cohort. 

Steep  rocks  on  each  side,  and  a  few,  struggling  trees ; 

But,  circling  o'erhead,  the  wild  vultures  flew  high ; 

The  wind  in  the  pass  seemed  to  moan  or  to  sigh ; 
But,  we  were  refreshed  by  the  cool,  pleasant  breeze. 

Then,  sudden,  from  all  sides,  come  volleys  of  death ; 

And  horses  and  men,  and  the  leaders  we  trust, 

Tn  their  dying  agonies,  roll  in  the  dust ; 
And,  with  cries  of  despair,  yield  up  their  last  breath. 

—  42  — 


The  stain  on  our  prestige,  we'll  never  efface; 

Hemmed  in;  we  could  neither  advance  nor  retire; 

Just  slaughtered  in  heaps,  by  the  enemy's  fire; 
No  choice  but  to  die,  in  the  midst  of  disgrace. 

That  any  escaped  from  that  red  throat  of  hell, 
Has  always  appeared  a  great  wonder  to  me; 
A  few.  Oh !  how  few !  were  enabled  to  flee. 

How  sad,  for  a  soldier,  this  story  to  tell. 


—  43- 


INCENTIVES  TO  WORK. 

Truly  I  work  with  double  zest, 

My  life  is  near  its  close; 
And  I  must  try  to  do  my  best, 

Ere  Death  his  signal  blows. 

For  I  have  had  my  years  for  thought, 
And  long  been  schooled  and  trained; 

By  many  teachers  I've  been  taught; 
By  some,  alas!  restrained. 

Nature  presented  her  large  page, 

To  study  day  by  day; 
History,  the  course  from  age  to  age. 

Of  man's  long,  struggling  way. 

Science  has  called  me  to  her  side. 

And  spread  for  eager  eyes, 
Her  marvels  drawn  from  far  and  wide 

In  earth  and  seas  and  skies. 

Sages  and  thinkers  of  all  times. 

Kindly  assumed  the  task, 
To  gather  wisdom  from  all  climes, 

Beyond  what  I  might  ask. 


Music  has  charmed  me  with  her  lyre, 

And  bade  my  feeHngs  flow; 
My  heart  has  warmed  with  heaven's  own  fire, 

And  set  my  soul  aglow. 

And  the  procession  on  its  way 

To  the  Parnassian  height, 
Has  sent  each  poet  with  his  lay, 

To  sing  for  my  delight. 

And  then,  besides,  this  present  age, 

In  which  my  lot  is  cast, 
Presents  each  day  a  grander  page. 

Than  all  the  wond'rous  past. 

Great  problems  now  are  boldly  solved; 

Old  questions   set  at   rest; 
New  methods  genius  has  evolved, 

By  which  the  race  is  blest. 

For  these  are  living  men  I  see ; 

I  feel  their  rush  and  strife; 
This  mighty  throng  encircles  me 

With  the  deep  tide  of  life. 

-45  — 


All  this  for  years  I  have  enjoyed ; 

Great  is  the  debt  I  owe ; 
What  time  remains  must  be  employed 

In  works  my  thanks  may  show. 

So,  I  work  on  with  double  zest, 
My   life  is   near  its  close; 

Still  I  must  try  to  do  my  best, 
Before  Death's  sig^nal  blows. 


-46 


A  NEW  YEAR  GREETING. 

Gracious  Lady!  young  and  fair! 

With  a  brow  untouched  by  care; 
Lo !  the  New  Year !  I  express 

Desire  for  your  happiness. 

Oh  !  how  much  this  wish  impHes  ! 

Pleasant  weather,  genial  skies, 
Health,  all  blessings  to  enjoy, 

Work,  your  talents  to  employ. 

Friends  sincere,  to  love  you  well. 
Pleasant  home  wherein  to  dwell, 

There  to  find  the  needful  rest, 
Near  the  loving  Mother's  breast. 

But,  if  you  must  bear  the  cross, 
Pain  and  sickness,  grief  and  loss, 

You  will  show  your  noblest  trait, — 
A  dauntless  heart  for  any  fate ! 


LINES  SUGGESTED  BY  THE  DEPART- 
URE OF  MRS.  AND  MISS  L.  FOR 
EGYPT,  OCTOBER,  1892. 

God's  chosen  ones,  in  ancient  time, 
Dwelt  for  three  hundred  years, 

A  humble  race,  in  Egypt's  clime, 
"Mid  sighs  and  groans  and  tears. 

They  longed  and  prayed  to  be  set  free, 

From  Pharaoh's  cruel  hand. 
Then,  joyed  to  pass  through  the  Red  Sea, 

And  leave  the  Nile's  hot  strand. 

But,  times  have  changed  since  Moses'  day. 

The  nations  fall  and  rise; 
Science  and  Art  now  hold  their  sway. 

Brightened  by  western  skies. 

Now  the  elite,  each  chosen  one, 

Hastes  from  the  wintry  gale, 
To  bask  beneath  old  Egypt's  sun. 

And  on  its  stream  to  sail. 


We  cannot  mourn  to  see  you  go 

To  old  Nile's  sunny  shore, 
Where  health  and  life  soft  airs  bestow, 

And  Pharaohs  rule  no  more. 

When  Spring  returns,  with  sun  and  flowers, 
And  ends  stern  Winter's  reign. 

We  hope  the  pleasure  shall  be  ours, 
To  see  you  both  again. 

Till  then,  Adieu ;  through  God's  kind  hand, 

Fulfilled  be  each  desire; 
May  you  come  forth  from  Egypt's  land  ; 

Nor  miracles  require. 


—  49- 


WIEGENLIED. 

Alles  still  in  siisser  Ruh', 

Drum,  mein  Kind,  so  schlaf  auch  Du. 
Draussen  sauselt  nur  der  Wind, 

Su,  su,  su,  schlaf  ein  mein  Kind. 

Schliess'  Du  Deine  Aeugelein, 
Lass'  sie  wie  zwei  Knospen  sein; 

Morgen,  wenn  die  Sonn'  ergliiht. 
Sind  sie  wie  die  Blum'  erbliiht. 

Und  die  Bliimlein  schau'  ich  an, 
Und  die  Aeuglein  kiiss'  ich  dann, 

Und  der  Mutter  Herz  vergisst, 
Dass  es  draussen  Friihling  ist. 

— Hoffman  von  Fallerslehen. 


50- 


CRADLE  SONG. 

All  is  sunk  in  sweet  repose, 
Then  my  baby  too  must  sleep, 

Out  of  doors  the  zephyr  blows, 

Blows  and  sighs  while  watch  I  keep. 

Close  the  pretty,  little  eyes; 

Let  them  like  two  rose-buds  close ; 
In  the  morning,  at  sunrise, 

They  will  open  like  the  rose. 

Then  the  lovely  flower  I'll  see ; 

Then  the  little  eyes  I'll  kiss; 
The  mother's  heart  in  ecstacy, 

All  other  joys  of  spring  will  miss. 


—  51 


LINES  SUGGESTED  BY  THE  SAILING 

OF    MRS.   A.    E.   AND    HER    TWO 

DAUGHTERS  FOR  THE  U.  S. 

A  mother  and  two  daughters  dear, — 

For  all  good  things  are  three, — 
Now  turn  their  backs  on  Europe,  for 

The  dangers  of  the  sea; 
While  many  things  occur  to  vex 

The  souls  of  those  that  roam, 
They  have  one  certain  pleasure,  'tis 

The  joy  of  going  home. 
May  ocean's  rolling  waves  be  kind. 

Winds  soft,  the  skies  all  bright, 
The  steamship  prove  a  pleasant  one. 

The  passengers  polite; 
And  when  the  voyage  safely  ends 

At  fair  Columbia's  strand. 
May  all  they  see  prove  they  have  reached 

The  modern  promised  land. 
Where  freemen  walk,  with  heads  erect, 

Among  their  fellows  free; 
And  license  dares  not  flaunt  its  face 

To  shame  fair  liberty; 

-52- 


Where  capital  has  its  reward, 

And  labor  gets  its  due ; 
Where  laws  are  framed  in  equity, 

And  Judgments  just  and  true ; 
Where  property  commands  respect, 

And  crime  is  hunted  down; 
And  life  is  safe  throughout  the  land, 

In  hamlet,  vale  and  town; 
Where  bounteous  harvests  from  the  fields, 

In  swelling  garners  stored. 
Permit   wide  hospitality 

To  spread  a  lavish  board; 
Where  bright,  inventive  genius  shows 

How  nature's  gifts  are  sought, 
And  science,  in  her  studious  ways, 

Enlarges  human  thought; 
Where  woman,  held  in  high  esteem, 

Is  free  to  come  and  go. 
Sure  of  the  chivalric  respect 

Sons,  brothers,    fathers  show; 
Where  education  opens  wide 

Her  portals  to  the  young. 
And  every  brave  and  noble  deed 

In  fitting  verse  is  sung. 

-53- 


If  this  be  true,  our  travelers, 

When  they  this  land  descry. 
May  be  excused  if  tears  of  joy 

Show  full  hearts  beating  high. 
But  if.  alas,  it  is  not  true, 

But  merely  an  ideal. 
Let  them  resolve  to  make  it  true, 

Servine  the  commonweal. 


-54- 


FOR  THE  WEDDING. 

Here's  a  health  to  the  young  wedded  pair ! 

The  strong  husband,   the  beautiful  wife! 
Who  have  vowed  for  each  other  to  care, 

Come  what  may  in  the  journey  of  life. 

We  all  wish  for  them  courage  and  health, 
And  a  love  that  will  never  grow  cold ; 

Of  what  use  are  position  and  wealth 
To  sad  hearts  that  are  empty  and  old  ? 

It  is  true, — sickness,  pain,  and  dull  care. 
And  misfortune  may  darken  their  lot ; 

But,  all  these  are  so  easy  to  bear. 

By  the  warm  hearts  whose  love  changes  not. 

Godlike  Love !    What  a  power  is  thine ! 

What  a  glory  thy  presence  can  give ! 
Oh !  with  Thee,  life  is  rendered  sublime ! 

But,  without  Thee,  we're  dead  while  we  live. 

Then  a  health  to  the  partners  for  life ! 

Gracious  Heaven  its  best  blessings  send! 
To  kind  husband,  and  dear,  gentle  wife! 

May  their  love  never  come  to  an  end ! 

-55- 


THE  MONK  OF  THE  TYROL. 


At  Munich  the  scholastic  year 

Had  ended ;  'twas  July ; 
And  thus  the  way  became  quite  clear, 

The  well-laid  plan  to  try 
Of  wandering  Tyrolwards,  with  pack, 
Studentlike,  strapped  upon  the  back. 


My  friend.  Geologist  well-known. 

Agreed  to  go  along ; 
Nature's  old  book,  composed  of  stone, 

To  him  attraction  strong; 
While  I  intended,  now  and  then. 
To  read  a  work  from  Nietsche's  pen. 


By  rail  to  Innspruck;  then  for  days, 
Among  the  mountains  grand, 

By  many  unfrequented  ways. 
Throughout  the  alpine  land. 

We  roamed  where  dashing  torrents  flow, 

Or  scaled  high  rocks,  'mid  ice  and  snow. 

-56- 


And  if  my  friend,  in  rocky  bed, 

Could  find  some  object  rare, 
By  this  excited,  he  was  led 

To  lecture  then   and  there, 
And  make  to  live  the  wonders  vast 
Of  geologic  ages  past. 

And  I,  of  philosophic  turn. 

In  shade  of  lofty  rocks. 
Would  read  my  friend,  in  words  that  burn, 

Some  moral  paradox, 
From  Nietsche's  page,  where  sparkling  thought, 
Embellishes  the  doctrines  taught. 

The  lively  book  excuse  would  lend, 

As  we  resumed  our  road, 
To  spread  before  my  genial  friend. 

My  own  peculiar  code; 
So  customs,  ethics,  church  and  state, 
Proved  constant  themes  of  warm  debate. 

Thus  traveling,  we  stopped  one  day, 

At  rustic  inn  to  dine ; 
It  seemed  a  pleasant  place  to  stay; 

The  scenery  was  fine ; 
Before  us  stretched  the  valley  wide, 
Mountains  stood  guard  on  either  side. 

-57- 


Here,  near  the  road,  beneath  a  tree, 

The  table,  extra-clean, 
Was  placed,  so  that  we  each  might  see 

The  beauty  of  the  scene; 
In  bright  costume,  a  Tyrol  maid 
Placed  chairs,  brought  wine,  the  white  cloth  laid. 

Waiting,  I  sat  with  half-closed  eyes. 

Musing  about  the  past ; 
When  from  the  road,  to  my  surprise, 

His  step  alert  and  fast, 
A  monkish  pilgrim  greeted  me ; 
A  man  of  sixty  seemingly. 

Sandals  on  feet,  coarse  woolen  gown, 

By  a  rope  girded  tight, 
A  pointed  hood  for  his  bald  crown, 

A  long  beard,  grayish-white. 
Beads  and  a  crucifix,  eyes  bright  blue, 
Complexion  light,  with  ruddy  hue. 

My  friend  and  I  were  pleased  to  meet 

This  unexpected  guest ; 
Polite,  we  offered  him  a  seat. 

And  said,  he  ought  to  rest ; 
Then  pressed  him  to  accept  a  place; 
His  presence  would  our  table  grace. 

— 1;8  — 


Thus  urged,  the  monk,  with  thanks  sincere. 

Sat  down  with  us  to  dine; 
With  pleasure  noticed  the  good-cheer, 

And  praised  our  choice  of  wine. 
'Twas  clear  the  old  man  wished  to  please; 
We  strove  to  set  our  guest  at  ease. 

So,  unconstrained,  our  out-door  meal 

Went  on  with  friendly  talk ; 
I  joked  of  geologic  zeal, 

And  told  about  our  walk ; 
This  led  my  friend  to  bring  to  light 
A  specimen  of  Ammonite. 

"This  handsome  form,"  my  friend  explained, 

''Comes  from  the  Jura  range; 
Fossils  in  crowds  from  it  are  gained; 

This  one  not  wholly  strange; 
The  circling,  spiral,  chambered  shell. 
Tells  its  aquatic  story  well." 

Unfitted  quite  to  understand 

What  my  learned  friend  had  said. 

The  simple  monk  took  in  his  hand 
This  form  for  ages  dead; 

Then  asked, — "And  can  you  fix  the  date. 

At  which  this  scroll'd  thing  met  its  fate  ?" 

—  59- 


"No,"  said  my  friend,  with  a  faint  smile, 

"A  date  I  cannot  state; 
It  must  have  taken  a  long  while, 

The  range  is  old,  not  late ; 
To  form  the  Jura  it  appears. 
Required  several  million  years!" 

"What,"  cried  the  monk,  "Your  words  are  wild! 

The  world's   age  is  well-known; 
'Tis  taught  to  every  chiristian  child ; 

In  Genesis  'tis  shown; 
Creation, — and  the  texts  I  know, — 
Took  place  six  thousand  years  ago." 

The  scientist,  quite  cool,  to  this 

Replied,  "It  is  not  sure, 
Who  wrote  the  book  of  Genesis, 

Or,  if  the  text  is  pure; 
If  dates  are  given,  they  may  be  wrong ; 
Mistakes  to  human  things  belong." 

"The  Holy  Word  of  God  on  high. 

By  inspiration  given," 
Answered  the  monk,  "This  cannot  lie; 

Poor  reason  oft  is  driven. 
Having  no  spiritual   dower. 
To  judge  of  things  beyond  its  power." 

-60  — 


Fanatic-like  his  eyes  grew  keen; 

And  so,  I  thought  it  wise 
To  change  the  subject  to  the  scene 

Spread  out  before  our  eyes, 
Remarking  that — "To  us  below, 
Life  much  of  beauty  here  can  show." 

The  monk  replied,  'This  life  is  one 

Of  misery  and  sin, 
Its  only  use  is  hell  to  shun, 

A  heaven  bright  to  win ; 
To  sorrowing  man  Faith   points  on  high, 
To  the  real  home,  beyond  the  sky." 

Surprised,  I  said,  'Through  many  years 

Experience  records, 
That  Faith,  appealing  to  man's  fears, 

Or  hopes  of  bright  rewards, 
Produced  low  morals,  on  the  whole, 
And  dwarfed  the  standard  of  the  soul." 

The  pilgrim  heard  with  looks  of  pain, 

Not  crediting  his  ears; 
Such  sentiments  seemed  so  insane, 

From  one  of  my  ripe  years ; 
He  laid  one  hand  upon  his  breast. 
And  then,  these  words  to  me  addressed: — 

_6i- 


"Man  was  created  perfect,  wise, 
Was  placed  in  Eden's  bower; 

He  fell  by  means  of  Satan's  lies, 
And  lost  his  godlike  dower; 

Became  a  wretched  child  of  woe 

Henceforth,  as  History's  pages  show. 

Religion  lifts  the  soul  from  earth, 

Through  mysteries  divine, 
'Tis  only  through  a  second  birth 

We  change,  that  we  may  shine 
In  that  high  realm  where  angels  dwell, 
And  where  salvation's  anthems  swell.* 

I  said.   "The  Eden-myth,  a  tale 
Drawn  from  a  heathen  source. 

In  which  strange  miracles  prevail, 
Has  had  a  baleful  force; 

Science  and  History  can  show 

Man's  origin  was  very  low. 

Besides,  a  superstitious  faith. 

Where  mysteries  abound. 
Mere  dicta  resting  on — "he  saith," 

Lead  to  a  life  unsound; 
The  law  of  life,  frail  man  most  needs, 
Is  based  on  conduct,  not  on  creeds." 

-62  — 


This  was  too  much  for  our  poor  saint, 

He  rose,  said — he  must  go; 
The  way  was  long,  he  made  complaint, 

His  gait  would  be  but  slow; 
He'd  tell  his  beads,  and  say  some  prayers. 
For  those  bound  up  in  this  world's  snares. 

I  answered,  that  it  gave  us  pain 

If  we  had  been  too  free; 
We  only  wished  to  make  quite  plain. 

Our  love  of  liberty 
To  think  as  Truth  seemed  to  require ; 
Truth  glowed  to  us  with  sacred  fire. 

And  so,  we  parted,  quite  downcast, 

To  see  a  man  so  kind, 
Clinging  to  errors  centuries  past, 

A  monk  in  dress  and  mind; 
Groping  in  Superstition's  night, 
While  Science  spreads  the  Truth's  pure  light. 

Munich,  1893. 


-63- 


THE  VALLEY  AND  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

The  Traveler: 

A  charming  scene !  worthy  a  painter's  skill ! 

Just  in  the  foreground,  this  old,  sleepy  mill. 

There  the  grand  mountains !     To  the  north  they  trend. 

Do  you  dwell  here,  my  aged,  white-haired  friend  ? 

The  Old  Man: 

Yes,  Stranger,  in  the  valley,  here  I  dwell ; 
The  fields  are  fertile ;  yonder,  in  the  dell 
A  clear,  trout  stream  glides  on  its  quiet  way ; 
And  drowsy  peace  holds  undisputed  sway. 

I'm  old;  I've  lost  all  wish  for  storm  and  stress; 
I  love  repose,  and  words  of  gentleness; 
And,  with  my  youngest  grandchild  on  my  knee, 
I  watch  the  clouds  sail  like  white  ships  at  sea. 

Those  mountain-tops,  long  since,  ere  I  was  lame, 
I  climbed  with  vigor,  tracking  the  wild  game; 
The  furious  blast,  the  sudden  storm's  unrest, 
Could  not  deter  me  from  my  eager  quest. 

-64- 


Elate,  I  braved  the  peril,  and  would  seek 

To  stand  exultant  on  the  snow-clad  peak ; 

But,  I  descended  quickly;  for  I  felt 

The  valley's  charm, — the  home  where  loved-ones  dwelt. 

Ah !  me !    At  times  I  would  be  young  again ; 
In  vigorous  health,  and  free  from  constant  pain ; 
But,  by  reflection,  I  have  learned  this  truth, — 
One  thoughtful  day  outvalues  years  of  youth. 

So,  now,  the  mountain-rampart  from  the  cold; 
I  think  of  as  a  blessing;  for  I'm  old; 
And  in  this  sheltered  valley,  well-content, 
My  last,  best  years  shall  thankfully  be  spent. 


-65- 


A  PARTING. 

Sad, — such  is  life;  we  meet,  we  part. 

Tears  fill  these  aged  eyes. 
Not  so, — be  still,  my  suffering  heart ! 

Meet  all  in  stoic  guise. 

Not  too  elate  upon  the  crest 
Of  Fortune's  swelling  wave ; 

Nor,  in  the  depths  too  much  deprest ; 
But,  calm,  serene  and  brave. 

Mere  feeling  must  not  take  control ; 

Nor  passion  use  its  force. 
Let  reason  firmly  guide  the  soul, 

And  hold  it  to  its  course; 

When  duty  calls,  the  truly  great 
By  prompt  obedience  shine ; 

The  self-poised  man  will  meet  his  fate 
With  fortitude  divine. 

Let  golden  silence  show  her  art ; 

For  words  are  weak  and  vain ; 
One  thought  supports  my  heavv  heart 

We  are  to  meet  again ! 

-66  — 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  BIRDS. 

Now  the  wild  birds  fly  over  our  old  house,  ah,  me ! 

And  they  hasten  away  from  this  chill  land  of  ours; 

The  short  season  is  past  of  sweet  fruits  and  fair  flowers ; 
And  a  cold,  warning  breeze  comes  all  damp  from  the  sea. 

How  they  speed,  as  we  gaze  at  their  orderly  flight ! 

A  wise  instinct  is  guiding  them  on  their  sure  way ! 

They  rush  onwards  by  night  just  as  well  as  by  day, 
To  the  lands  in  the  south, — warm,  fertile  and  bright ! 

All  that  pleases  them  not  is  soon  left  far  behind ; 

At  the  note  of  command  they  have  quit  the  outworn ; 

And  endurance  will  show  while  fatigue  must  be  borne, 
Till  new  homes,  crowned  with  plenty,  they  joyfully  find ! 

When  dread  storms  of  misfortune  cloud  over  our  sky; 

When  keen  want  and  disease  seem  about  to  draw  near ; 

For  the  dear  ones  we  love  we  surmise,  and  we  fear ; 
And  yet  where  are  our  wings  from  these  perils  to  fly  ? 


-67- 


TO  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  S.  D. 
INGHAM. 

Ah !  this  portrait !  full  of  grace, 
Picturing  thy  lovely  face. 
What  profusion  of  brown  hair! 
Curling  round  thy  head  so  fair ! 
Eyes  sincere,  devoid  of  guile; 
Mouth  betokening  a  smile. 
Perfect  woman !     Art  sublime ! 
Shows  thee  ever  in  thy  prime. 
Painters  oft  bewail   the   fate 
Forcing   them  to   what   they  hate; 
But,  this  artist  worked  with  will. 
Finding  thee  worth  all  his  skill; 
Inward  grace  he  could  disclose, 
And  his  work  the  master  shows; 
Doubtless,  to  himself  he  said, — 
"This  will  live  when  I  am  dead." 
Sixty  years  have  sped  away; — 
Late,  I  knew  thee  old  and  gray, 
When  the  promise  of  thy  youth 
Ripened,  and  in  very  truth. 
Nobleness  of  heart  and  mind 
Shone  in  character  refined. 

-68  — 


ASSASSINATION  OF  PRESIDENT  CARNOT, 
June  24,  1894. 


Now  that  it  is  too  late,  it  is  so  clear 

That  nations  may  their  history  unlearn ; 
Its  sternest  lessons  failing  to  discern; 

And  lose  possessions  all  men  should  revere. 

The  priceless  man,  to  noble  hearts  most  dear; 

Who  sought  the  plaudits  of  the  wise  to  earn ; 

Who  never  from  bright  honor's  path  would  turn; 
Was  all  too  good  and  mild,  too  void  of  fear. 

Thus  wrathful  men  were  with  calm  reason  met ; 

Their  hate  and  malice  thought  to  be  in  vain ; 

Base  plots  of  vengeance  treated  with  disdain; — 
But,  Carnot  dies!     What  horror!     What  regret! 

The  noblest  gift  unguarded, — 'twas  insane 
To  let  a  felon  fill  the  world  with  pain. 


-69- 


THE  TIMID  LOVER. 

Here,  in  her  garden,  filled  with  flowers, 

My  beauteous  lady  fair, 
Now  walks  to  while  away  the  time, 

And  breathe  the  scented  air ; 
And,  as  with  stealthy  glance,  I  look 

Upon  her  matchless  face, 
My  heart  more  deeply  feels  the  power 

Of  her  surprising  grace. 
And  this  it  is  has  made  me  wish 

To  seek  to  claim  her  hand ; 
But.  still,  as  yet,  I  have  not  dared 

To  make  the  bold  demand. 
When  I  draw  near  to  speak  to  her, 

She  greets  me  pleasantly, 
But  her  dark  eyes  have  depths  profound, 

Like  to  the  deep,  deep  sea; 
And  as  I  cannot  fathom  them, 

My  doubt  and  fear  are  great ; 
Till  I  know  more,  it  would  be  rash 

To  rush  upon  my  fate. 
When  rival  swains  approach,  I  watch; 

Her  slightest  words  I  weigh; 
But.  that  she  has  a  preference, 

Nor  acts,  nor  words  betray. 

—  70  — 


She  is  most  genial  with  them  all. 

And  each  has  hopes,  I  fear; 
Yet,  like  myself,  they  wait  until 

Some  sign  makes  progress  clear. 
But,  I  am  careful  as  to  dress, 

I  violate  no  rules ; 
Those  who  neglect  the  arts  of  life 

Are  little  less  than  fools. 
And  oft,  a  present  in  my  hand, 

Some  dainty,  pretty  thing, 
I  think  will  smooth  my  doubtful  way, 

To  her  I  gladly  bring; 
She  takes  it  as  a  passing  gift, 

But  still  no  ardor  shows ; 
It  answers  for  the  moment's  need. 

Its  force  no  further  goes. 
At  times  she  leaves  her  pleasant  home, 

Visits  an  absent  friend ; 
My  pain  is  great  while  she's  away, 

Slow  days  drag  to  their  end; 
For  I  know  not  what  beaux  she  meets, 

I  only  can  surmise ; 
And  when,  at  last,  she  has  returned, 

I  dread  a  great  surprise ; 


Then,  not  for  weeks,  can  I  assume 

All  danger  has  passed  by; 
That  I  am  free  once  more  to  hope, 

And  fume,  and  fret,  and  sigh. 
Now,  in  the  garden,  as  she  strolls, 

Along  the  shady  walk, 
I  could  disclose  to  her  my  love, 

And  eloquently  talk; 
All  seems  propitious,  she's  alone ; 

It  is  the  month  of  May ; 
And  I  am  forced  to  realize 

The  danger  of  delay. 
But  I'm  afraid ;  she  might  reveal 

A  want  of  sympathy; 
And,  if  her  answer  were  adverse, — 

What  would  become  of  me! 


—  72  — 


A   NEW   DAY. 

The  morning  dawns,  I  wake  to  a  new  day ; 

Some  wished- for  good  may  be  accomplished  now; 
The  task  unfinished,  with  no  more  delay, 

Completed  in  accordance  with  my  vow. 

The  kindly  deed  that  I  have  had  in  mind, 
This  day  shall  be  fulfilled  ere  setting  sun; 

My  brother's  wounds  I'll  cleanse,  and  gently  bind, 
And  pour  in  oil  and  wine ;  love's  duty  done. 

Perchance  I  can  in  fitting  words  disclose, 

How  half-truths  oft  in  youthful  minds  do  rest, 

And  truth  and  error  side  by  side  repose ; 
Then  show  that  full-orbed  verity  is  best. 

Perhaps,  some  souls  caught  by  a  false  faith's  snare. 
Pressed  down  by  gloomy  supertition's  load, 

I  may  release,  and  lead  to  bracing  air, 
And  start  them  forwards  on  a  sunny  road. 

Or,  seeing  one  incautiously  draw  near 

To  lurking  dangers,  all  to  him  unknown, 

Point  out  the  deadly  perils ;  thus  make  clear, 
My  wish  to  live  not  for  myself  alone. 

-73- 


If,  in  return  for  all  the  varied  years 

Of  life  kind  nature  has  vouchsafed  to  me, 

Now  daily,  larger,  riper  fruit  appears, — 
Cheered  by  success,  how  happy  I  shall  be! 


74- 


THE  JOURNEY  OF  LIFE, 

AS   SEEN   FROM   THE   ALTITUDE  OF   SEVENTY   YEARS. 

July  2,  i82j-i8ps- 

From  many  causes  it  is  clear. 

The  travelers  are  few, 
Who  have  the  strength  to  persevere 

To  this  grand  point  of  view ; 
Where,  in  vast  circuit,  one  may  see 
The  outstretched  land,  the  boundless  sea. 

As  here  I  stand  and  rest  awhile. 

Before  I  further  go, 
I  see  the  road  for  many  a  mile 

Winding  along  below, 
By  which  I've  reached  this  lofty  place. 
And  distanced  thousands   in  the  race. 

At  first,  my  Mother,  scorning  rest, 
Watched  me  by  night  and  day; 

In  arms  of  love,  upon  her  breast, 
She  bore  me  on  the  way 

Which  wound  along  through  shady  bowers, 

Adorned  and  perfumed  by  the  flowers. 

-75- 


And  then  my  Father's  stronger  hand, 

When  I  could  walk  and  run, 
Grasped  mine,  and  taught  me  to  withstand 

The  cold,  the  rain,  the  sun; 
And  hardened  me,  that  I  might  bear, 
Bravely,  what  ills  might  be  my  share. 

Then  troops  of  youthful  friends  drew  nigh, 

Who  welcomed  me  with  joy. 
To  share  their  sports  and  games,  and  try 

How  I  might  best  employ 
My  growing  powers  of  mind  and  will, 
And  show  my  genius  or  my  skill. 

Next,  o'er  a  long  and  narrow  road, 

The  pedagogue  as  guide, 

I  chafed  and  fumed,  and  always  showed 

More  love  for  Nature  wide. 
Pot,  in  the  school  too  oft  the  mind. 
As  in  a  prison  is  confined. 

Even  in  college,  little  men 

Obscured  large  realms  of  thought. 

Left  subjects  far  beyond  their  ken, 
Inadequately  taught; 

Or  waiting  minds  quite  failed  to  reach. 

Because  they  knew  not  how  to  teach. 

-76- 


A  steeper  road,  a  jostling  crowd, 

Who  with  each  other  cope; 
Young  men  and  maidens  sing  aloud, 

Their  faces  flushed  with  hope. 
They  strive  to  show  that  they  are  free, 
And  know  the  use  of  liberty. 

In  such  a  crowd  I  found  my  place ; 

Gave  precedence  to  none ; 
Felt  able  to  keep  up  the  pace. 

By  which  the  heights  were  won ; 
Strode  gaily  forward,  free  from  care. 
And  built  my  castles  in  the  air. 

Fill'd  with  day-dreams,  which  brighter  grew 
When  maidens  passed  my  way. 

All  nature  took  a  roseate  hue, 
Under  the  charmers'  sway. 

I  gathered  flowers,  I  sang,  I  danced, 

By  female  loveliness  entranced. 

Then  fate,  more  powerful  than  mind. 

Fixed  destiny  for  life; 
Congenial  souls  each  other  find; 

Rare  maid  becomes  my  wife; 
Sure  of  a  future  ever  bright. 
Illumed  and  blest  by  love's  soft  light. 

—  77- 


Oh  joy !  the  quest  is  at  an  end, 

As  heart  responds  to  heart; 
Happy  I  gain  the  life-long  friend, 

I  find  my  better  part. 
For  life  in  fullness  we  aspire; 
Hand  clasped  in  hand  we  struggle  higher. 

And  now  behold  a  table-land. 
Which  a  wise  culture  showed, 

With  pleasant  fields  on  either  hand, 
And  a  long,  level  road. 

The  dreams  of  youth  may  disappear; 

Small  place  for  much  illusion  here. 

We  travel  forwards  with  good  heart, 

Though  many  cares  arise; 
Each  tries  to  bear  the  other's  part, 

While  love  beams  from  the  eyes. 
To  brighten  every  trying  hour. 
Oh !  Love !  how  magical  thy  power ! 

And  children  come,  our  lot  to  grace, 

With  innocence  and  smiles; 
And,  though  they  cause  a  slower  pace, 

Their  sport  the  way  beguiles. 
Life's  sombre  cares  refuse  to  stay. 
Where  lively  children  run  and  play. 

-78- 


Were  wife  and  children  e'er  forgot, 

Amid  the  surging  throng? 
Ambition's  voice  was  heeded  not. 

Nor  heard  the  sirens'   song; 
So,  pit-fall,  chasm,  dread  abyss, 
Failed  to  engulf  domestic  bliss. 

The  children  grow,   and  in  their  turn, 

Most  eagerly  embrace. 
The  first  fair  chance  they  can  discern. 

For  independent  place; 
By  various  paths,  they  march  along. 
Their  courage  high,  their  sinews  strong. 

The  road  now  bends  towards  the  north; 

The  wind  is  cold  and  keen; 
Mountains,  snow-capped,  stand  grandly  forth; 

Deep  valleys  lie  between. 
Through  a  dark  gorge  our  hard  way  winds. 
While  painful  thoughts  oppress  our  minds. 

The  gentle  wufe  is  ill ;  her  strength 

Scarce  answ^ers  for  the  day; 
W^e  struggle  onwards,  but  at  length 

Must  stop  upon  our  way. 
In  spite  of  prayers,  and  groans,  and  sighs, — 
One  final  kiss, — my  loved  one  dies. 

—  79- 


Where  now  the  hope  of  Hfe-long  light? 

Where  now  my  heart's  best  friend? 
My  gray  hair  blanches  into  white ; 

Oh !  let  this  journey  end ! 
Children  and  friends  would  comfort  me ; 
'Tis  vain, — I  know  my  destiny. 

While  tears  were  falling  from  my  eyes, 

And  I  could  scarcely  stand, 
A  comforter,  supremely  wise. 

Stretched  forth  a  helping  hand. 
Love,  wounded,  loses  self-control; 
Philosophy  sustains  the  soul. 

Slowly  at  first,  with  labored  breath, 

My  thoughts  as  in  a  dream, 
I  pass  beyond  that  gorge  of  death. 

Where  silence  reigns  supreme; 
When  suddenly  again  appear 
Those  snow-capped  peaks  in  sunlight  clear. 

The  mountain-range  trends  to  the  west, 

Ends  at  the  ocean  wide : 
My  future  road, — I  think  'twas  best, — 

Along  the  mountain  side, 
Round  jutting  crag,  and  swelling  hill, 

Mounted,  and  ever  mounted  still. 


With  staff  in  hand,  upward  I  climb, 

The  winding  road  pursue, 
And  thus  1  reach,  from  time  to  time, 

Still  higher  points  of  view ; 
Whence  retrospective  thoughts  I  cast, 
Upon  the  errors  of  my  past. 

Through  childhood,  youth,  and  manhood's  years, 

I  thought  I  was  so  free; 
But  now,  most  clearly  it  appears. 

That  could  not  really  be; 
1  was  but  part  of  one  great  whole. 
My  slightest  breath  in  stern  control. 

If  this  be  true,  I  do  not  care. 

Upon  the  past  to  dwell; 
'Tis  gone;  I  have  no  time  to  spare; 

I  know  it  but  too  well. 
The  living  present  on  our  hands, 
Its  duties  all  our  strength  demands. 

Nature, — impassive  she  appears, — 

Her  mood  relentless  seems ; 
Man's  hopes,  his  wishes,  and  his  fears, 

Are  like  to  useless  dreams, 
Which,  for  the  time,  and  while  we  feel, 
Impress  our  minds  as  if  they're  real. 


So,  after  climbing,  some  new  steep, 

I  take  the  wished- for  rest; 
If  things  go  wrong,  I  do  not  weep, 

I  will  not  be  be  depressed; 
But,  supine  on  the  grass  I  lie, 
And  watch  the  clouds  go  sailing  by. 

Up  to  this  time,  the  spacious  scene. 

Spread  out  before  my  eyes. 
Deep  valley,   plain,  and  grove,  and  stream, 

And  clouds,  and  changing  skies. 
While  beautiful,  still  failed  for  me, 
By  lack  of  contrast  with  the  sea. 

From  yonder  promontory  high. 

My  road  turns  to  the  right. 
It  stands  out  boldly  'gainst  the  sky, 

'Twill  give  the  wished-for  sight. 
From  that  high  spot,  the  ocean  vast 
Must  o'er  the  view  its  grandeur  cast. 

At  last,  arrived ! — before  me  lies 

An  expanse  without  bound; 
High  in  the  air  an  eagle  flies ; 

Below  the  waves  resound ; 
Dread  ocean,  thou !    Oh !  mighty  sea ! 
Fit  emblem  of  eternity. 

—  82- 


EIN  LEBENSLAUF. 
Von.  Prof.  E.  Emerson. 

Aus  dem  Englischen  iibersetzt  von   Herrn   Friedrich   Vogl,    Stabs- 

Auditeur  der  k.  Commandantur  der  Hauptund 

Residenztadt  Miinchen. 

Hier  stehe  ich,  ein  rastlos  Wand'rer, 

Auf  hoher  Wart,  wie  fern  wohl  noch  vom  Ziel? 
Dem  zugesteuert  wohl  manch  and'rer, 

Eh'  ihm  die  Kraft  versiegt  und  ernster  Will, 
Und  ruhig  schau  ich  von  des  Berges  Hoh' 
Das  weite  Land,  die  endlos  feme  See. 

Und  schau  zuriick  ich  die  gewundnen  Pfade, 
Die  tausend  Meilen  mich  hieher  gefiihrt, 

Derweilen  auf  der  Zeiten  Fliigelrade, 

Ich  tausend  der  Genossen  iiberschwirrt, 

Dann  gonnet  mir,  dem  altersmiiden  Gast, 

Der  siissen  Ruhe  kurz  bemess'ne  Rast. 

O  Mutter!    Zaubermelodien 

Weckst  Du  im  Herzen,  Tone  traut  und  sacht! 
Ich  seh  im  Geist  vorii.berziehen 

Dein  Lieben,  Sorgen,  Tag  und  Nacht. 
Ein  blumenduftend  Garten,  sel'ges  Land 
War's,  wo  mich  fiihrte  treue  Mutterhand. 

-83- 


Bis  dass  des  Vaters  weises  Walten 

Dem  Ernst  des  Lebens  mich  entgeg-enfiihrt ; 

Mag's  heiter,  mag  sich's  triib  gestalten, 
Sein  Wechsel  Hess  den  Jiingling  unberiihrt ; 

So  lernt  ich  Regen,  Schnee  und  Sonnenblick 

Ertragen,  Erdenleid  und  Erdengliick. 

Und  in  dem  Kreise  der  Gespielen 

Bracht  man  den  Willkomm    mir,  dem  frischen  Gast, 
Da  tummelt  sich's,  wie  junge  Fiillen, 

Auf  weitem  Heideplan  ohn'  Ruh  und  Rast; 
So  iibt  im  Jugendspiel  sich  Geist  und  Kraft, 
Auf  dass  der  Mann  im  Leben  Grosses  schafft. 

Eng  war  der  Pfad,  au-f  den  gebunden 
Den  Straubenden  der  Padagoge  schleift, 

Derweil  mein  Sinnen  unumwunden 

In  der  Natur  erhab'nen  Tempel  schweift. 

So  glich  die  Schul  mir  ein  Gefangnissraum, 

In  der  verkiimmerte  der  Jugendtraum. 

Selbst  des  Collegiums  hehre  Hallen 

Beengen  oft  des  freien  Geistes  Zug, 
Lasst  die  Gedanken  endlos  wallen, 

Nichts  hemm'  dem  Geist  den  hohen  Geisterflug. 
Reicht  Lehrerwissen  nicht  sum  Ziele  aus, 
Je  nun,  so  baut  aus  eigner  Kraft  das  Haus. 


Und  weiter  fiihren  neiie  Pfade, 

Ein  Drangen,  Kampfen  urn's  erstrebte  Ziel; 
Der  Jiinglinge  und  Madchen  Wettballade, 

Ein  hoffnungsreiches,  sel'ges  Minnespiel. 
Der  Freiheit  Gottin  weihn  sie  den  Altar, 
Der  Freiheit  bringen  frei  sie  Opfer  dar. 


Hier  fiihlt  ich  mich  und  ohne  Zaudern,  Zagen 
Trat  kiihn  ich  in  den  Mitbewerb  der  Kraft ; 

Mein  muss  der  Preis  sein  sender  Fragen, 
Die  H'Ohe,  so  die  Herrschaft  schafft. 

So  strebt  ich  heiter  vorwarts,  kummerlos, 

In  luft'gen  Spharen  baute  ich  mein  Schloss. 


Ein  Zaubergarten  war's,  wo  traumend 
Natur  mir  Rosen  streute,  Jungfrau'n  hold 

Den  Weg  mir  kreutzen,  Liebe  keimend 
Stellt  sich  das  freie  Herz  in  Liebe-Sold. 

Ich  pfliickte  Blumen,  tanzte,  sang  entziickt, 

Wo  Liebende  mit  Lieb  vergalten ; 
Es  bliihte  auf  mir  ungeahntes  Gliick. 

O  Zukunft !   Voll  der  Rosen,  voll  von  Licht, 

Wenn  aus  dem  Aug'  der  Theuersten  die  Liebe  spricht ! 
-85- 


Der  Tag  des  Glucks  er  war  gekommen, 
Mein  nannte  ich  den  lebenslangen  Freund, 

Und  Hand  in  Hand  den  Gipfel  wir  erklommen, 
Von  dem  die  Lebenssonne  warmend  scheint. 

So  zogen  wir,  nach  aufwarts  unsern  Blick, 

Den  Pfad  dahin,  vertrauend  dem  Geschick. 

Doch  abseits,  rechts  und  links  vom  Stege, 

Gab's  Land  zu  baiien,  Feld   fur  reiche  Frucht, 

Und  gliicklich,  wer  sie  zog  die  Wege, 

Und  der  Veredlung  Saat  zu  pflanzen  sucht. 

Wo  ernste  Arbeit  winkt  und  Schaffens  Lohn, 

Wie  schwindet  da  der  Jugend  Illusion! 

Und  immer  vorwarts  geht  die  Raise, 
Getheilte  Freude  und  getheiltes  Leid, 

Getheilte  Kost,  getheilte  Preise, 

Nur  eine  Last,  die  trugen  wir  zu  zweit. 

Und  ob  es  donnert,  blitzt,  der  Himmel  lacht, 

Wir  trugen  Alles  durch  der  Liebe  Macht. 

Es  hemmt  der  Kinder  Ruf  die  Schritte ; 

Vom  Himmel  uns  gesandt  das  sterblich  Loos 
Verschonend,   strahlt  in  unsrer   Mitte 

Der  Unschuld  susses  Lacheln  und  Gekos. 
Wo  frohlich  tummelt  froher  Kinder  Schaar, 

Da  wird  der  Eltern  Gliick  erst  voll  und  wahr. 

—  86- 


Nichtden  verlockenden  Syrenen, 

Der  wogend  Menge  wunderlicher  Kraft, 

Nichtdes  Ehrgeizes  blinden  Planen 
Erlieg'  des  Mannes  Kraft  erschlafft, 

Fiir  Weib  iind  Kind,  des  Hauses  Gluck  und  Frieden, 

Gibts  fur  den  Mann  kein  hoh'res  Gliick  hienieden. 

Es  reift  die  Frticht,  und  wie  die  Vater  sungen, 
Des  Liedes  Sang,  wer  kann  ihm  widerstehn? 

Es  regt  und  riistet  sich  so  bei  den  Jungen, 
Auf  eignem  Fuss  verlangt  es  sie  zu  stehn. 

So  treibt  es  in  die  Welt  den  jungen  Mann, 

Zu  priifen,  was  er  thun  und  wagen  kann. 

Es  dunkelt  sich  die  Wolke,  Klippen 

Und  Schluchten,  Eis  und  Schnee  und  kalter  Wind, 
Und  Berge,  himmelhohe  Felsenrippen, 

Sie  hemmen  drauend  mich  und  Weib  und  Kind. 
So  ziehn  wir  bin  das  dunkle  Labyrinth, 
Triib  wie  der  Himmel  unsre  Seelen  sind. 

Es  krankt  das  Weib,  noch  wenig  Stunden; 

Was  hilft  das  Strauben,  wenn  die  Macht  gebricht? 
Ein  Kuss,  der  letzte,  und  entschwunden 

Das  Gliick — gebrochen  ist  der  Augen  Licht ! 
Nicht  beten,  bitten,  nichtder  Thranen  Lauf 
Halt  des  ergrimmten  Schicksals  Urtheil  auf. 

-87- 


Was  bleibt  mir  kiinftig  noch  zu  hoffen? 

Wo  ist  er,  meines  Herzens  bester  Freund? 
Wo  ist  der  Himmel  nun,  der  eh'dem  offen, 

An  dem  die  Sonne  nimmer  scheint  ? 
Es  bleicht  das  Haar,  nichts  frommt  mir  Trostes  Wort, 
Ich  kenn  mein  herbes  Schicksal, — sie  ist  fort! 

Wohl  schwankt  das  Menschenherz,  das  schwache, 
Und  unterliegend  fliesst  der  Thranen  Flut, 

Und  rettungslos  daucht  uns  die  eig'ne  Sache, 
Da  leuchtet  uns  ein  edles  Gut. 

Schon  beugt  das  Sein  das  schwache  Knie, 

Doch  rettend  winket  uns  Philosophic! 

Behutsam,  traumend,  zweifehid,  tastend, 
Des  Todes  Schlund  vermessend,  athemlos, 

So  dring  ich  vorwarts  langsam,  rastend, 
Der  ew'gen  Schweigensherrschaft  los  : 

Da  endHch  find  ich  wieder  mich  am  Plan, 

Im  Sonnenlicht  steigt  hell  der  Gipfel  an. 

Nach  Westen  zieht  die  Bergeskette, 

Wo  steil  sie  abwarts  fallt  zum  Ocean, 
Ich  geize  nicht  mehr  nach  der  Statte, 

Die  gipfelsturmend  fiihrt  bergan. 
Doch  hoher,  immer  holier  fiihrt  gerad 
Dem  Ziele  zu,  der  vielgewundne  Pfad. 


So  strebe  ich.  den  Stab  in  Handen, 

Nur  immer  auf warts  klimmend,  schweigsam,  still, 
Ein  Mai  muss  ja  die  Wandrung  enden, 

Und  immer  naher  komm  ich  meinem  Ziel. 
Doch  von  der  hohen  Wart,  aiif  der  ich  steh, 
Ich  der  Vergangenheit  Verirrung  seh. 

Durch  Kindheit, — Jugend, — Mannesjahre 

Daucht  ich  mich  schrankenlos  und  frei  zu  sein, 

Jetzt  f  Lihl  die  Kenntniss  ich  die  wahre, 
Dass  all  mein  Meinen  eitel  Schein. 

Als  Theil  kenn  ich  mich  von  dem  Ganzen  an, 

Von  dem  nicht  ein  Atom  sich  frei  bewegen  kann. 

Was  kiimmern  mich  vergangne  Zeiten? 

Die  Gegenwart  erfiillt  den  ganzen  Raum. 
Es  bleibe   in   Vergangenheiten, 

W^as  hinter  uns  ;  ich  denk  nicht  mehr  daran. 
Ich  weiss  es  wohl  nur  kurz  mehr  ist  die  Frist, 
Die  mir  zu  schaffen  noch  vergonnet  ist. 

Natur,   unthatig  nach   dem   Scheine 

Und  rucksichtslos  scheint  ihre  ganze  Art ; 

Der  Menschen  Hoffnung,  Wunsch  und  Furcht  alleine, 
Wir  traumen  nur  auf  unsrer  Pilgerfahrt, 

Und  Alles  was  uns  wirklich  scheint  im  Flug, 

Nur  Tauschung  ist's  des  Geistes,  eitel  Trug. 

-8g- 


Noch  wenig  Stufen  unci  ich  finde 
Mich  niederlassend  die  ersehnte  Ruh. 

Kommt  neues  Unheil,  ich  verwinde 

Den  Schmerz,  der  Thranen  Pforte  schliess  ich  zu. 

Auf's  Gras  leg  miide  ich  die  Glieder  hin, 

Und  seh  die  Wolken  iiber  mich  voruberzieh'n. 

Schon  schaii  ich  vor  mir  ausgebreitet 

Den  ungemessnen  Raum,  und  was  erfreut 

Das  Aug,  den  Strom,  der  meerwarts  gleitet, 
Und  was  uns  die  Natur  an  Schonheit  beut. 

Doch  Sehnen  fasst  mich,  ein  unnennbar  Weh, 

Vergleich  ich  mit  dem  Schonsten  selbst  die  See. 

Schon  winkt  das  Vorgebirg,  die  Ecke 

Rechts  um  die  H"  gelkette  zeigt  das  Land, 

Wo  endlich,  endlich  meine  Wanderstrecke 
Ziel  und  Erlosung  von  dem  Pilgern  fand. 

Von  diesem  Hochplatz  staun  ich  selig  an 

Den   unermesslich   breiten    Ocean. 

Hier  leuchtet  mir  das  Ziel,  es  wogen 

Des   Meeres   Fluten  ohne  Rast, 
Und  driiber  hin,  da  kommt  gezogen 

Ein  Adler  stolz,  der  Liifte  kii.hner  Cast. 
O  macht'ges  Meer,  wie  wogst  du  endlos  weit, 
Du  Spiegelbildniss  der  Allewigkeit! 

—  90  — 


REFLECTIONS  ON  LIFE, 

WHEN   REACHING   THE   ALTITUDE  OF   SEVENTY- 
FIVE    YEARS. 

Jtdy  2,  182^-18^8. 

Now  that  another  height  is  gained, 
The  scene  still  grander  grows, 

While  a  fair  pace  has  been  maintained, 
And  thought  some  progress  shows; 

Life's  lessons  well  may  grow  more  clear, 

As  the  sure  end  draws  slowly  near. 

So,  as  I  rest  and  gaze  around. 

On  mountains  capped  with  snow. 

And  listen  to  the  surge  resound 
From  the  chafed  rocks  below, 

The  setting  sun,  in  glory  bright. 

Floods  the  whole  sky  with  mellow  light. 

At  this  great  height,  in  this  pure  air, 

Far  from  the  busy  mart, 
Freed  from  the  usual  load  of  care, 

Alone  with  my  own  heart, — 
Life,  in  its  general  aspect,  lies 
Mapped  out  before  my  spirit's  eyes. 
—  91  — 


Little  by  little,  busy  man 

Builds  systems,  empires,  codes; 

Then  slowly  modifies  the  plan, 
Changing-  with  changing  modes ; 

But,  largely  viewed,  all  through  the  past, 

The  rate  of  progress  was  not  fast. 

Change  is  the  law  of  human  things, 
Of  worlds  beyond  our  skies; 

All,  either  this  or  that  way  swings, 
As  time's  course  onward  flies ; 

Whether  by  losses  or  by  gains. 

Nothing  immutable  remains. 

In  one  short  life  we  cannot  prove 

A  real  advance  is  made; 
What  to  us  forwards  seems  to  move, 

Perhaps  is  retrograde; 
What  promises  extended  sway, 
May  be  the  germs  of  sure  decay. 

Remembering  well  my  youthful  fire. 

My  eager  w4sh  to  see 
Mankind  make  progress,  and  aspire 

To  a  large  liberty, — 
I  sigh,  now  I  have  learned  how  slow, 
In  human  things  we  onward  go. 

-92  — 


The  world  contains  so  many  poor, 
It  fills  the  heart  with  pain; 

Most  eagerly  we  seek  a  cure; — 
Can  loss  be  changed  to  gain? 

Suppose  we  constitute,  though  late, 

A  new,  and  happy,  social  State? 

What  if  'twere  so  that  each  free  man 

Might  follow  his  ideal? 
If  his  own  life  grew  from  a  plan, 

'Twould  help  the  commonweal: 
Were  all  the  units  brave  and  true, 
Good  social  life  might  well  ensue. 

Or,  if  the  common  life  were  good, 
Well-reasoned,  clear  and  just. 

Each  small  part  in  the  brotherhod 
Would  ratify  the  trust; 

And  thus  reciprocally  each 

To  all  a  high  ideal  teach. 

Thus  working,  each  in  his  own  sphere, 

Respecting  mutual  right. 
The  course  of  progress  would  be  clear, 

All  burdens  be  but  light ; 
The  noble  nation,  the  most  free, 
And  noble  men  her  bulwark  be. 

-93- 


A  dream  of  youth ;  it  was  unwise ; 

Enthusiasts  are  aflame; 
The  crowd  cannot  be  forced  to  rise, 

Nor  moves  for  praise  or  blame; 
Man  must  be  happy  his  own  way; 
And  as  he  lists  will  work  or  play. 

Sometimes  the  world,  with  rapid  pace, 

Moves  on  at  any  cost; 
At  other  times,  swings  back  in  space, 

And  what's  been  gained  is  lost; 
But,  on  the  whole,  the  mass  stands  still 
And  for  real  progress  lacks  the  will. 

Through  mental  force  we  realize 

The  actual  state  of  things ; 
Imagination  makes  us  wise, 

Poetic  insight  brings; 
The  stolid,  common,  inert  mind. 
Dwelling  midst  marvels,  still  is  blind. 

Systems  and  schools,  to  their  disgrace. 

Oft  prove  as  fetters  strong. 
Chaining  the  mind  to  commonplace. 

Effecting  untold  wrong; 
While,  shutting  out  the  light  of  heaven, 
Instead  of  bread,  a  stone  is  given. 

-94- 


For  any  soul  how  sad  the  fate, 

To  be  so  falsely  trained, 
That  error  seems  to  compensate, 

When  truth  should  be  maintained; 
Throughout  the  life  no  instant  free 
The  plain  reality  to  see. 

And  in  the  State  how  pained  was  I, 

To  see  things  go  astray; 
Small  men  advanced  to  seats  on  high, 

A  sure  mark  of  decay ; 
When  so-called  statesmen  sold  their  trust, 
For  place,  or  gold ;  or  worse,  for  lust. 

'Tis  character  will  do  the  most 

Our  fellow-men  to  raise ; 
The  great  man  is  himself  a  host, 

On  him  we  fix  our  gaze; 
His  influence  stimulates  each  soul, 
And  thus  he  sways  the  complex  whole. 

Whence  comes  the  great  man's  godlike  gift, 

Of  health,  of  brain,  of  life? 
By  which  he  shows  his  power  to  lift 

The  world  in  mortal  strife? 
Why  does  his  character  impress. 
Or  guarantee  a  sure  success  ? 

-95- 


Far  in  the  past  we  trace  his  rise, 

And  mark  the  human  chain, 
Transmitting  in  a  novel  guise, 

Its  own  pecuHar  gain; 
Until,  at  last,  in  course  of  years. 
The  man  of  destiny  appears. 

Then  for  the  world,  which  seems  to  wait, 

The  fitting  time  arrives; 
'Twas  written  in  the  book  of  fate, 

The  matchless  hero  strives; 
Or  he,  to  whom  all  things  belong. 
The  poet,  sings  his  deathless  song. 

The  people,  then,  if  rightly  led. 

By  men  of  noble  mould. 
Will  have  no  cause  their  foes  to  dread; 

No  birthright  will  be  sold; 
But,  when  vile  demagogues  can  lead, 
What  power  shall  save  the  State  in  need  ? 

Words, — words, — how  potent  is  their  charm 

To  lull  the  moral  sense; 
Lest  the  weak  conscience  take  alarm, 

'Tis  drugged  by  mere  pretense; 
Thus,  evil  clothed  in  robes  of  light, 
Becomes  transcendent  to  the  sight. 

-96- 


But  few  are  skilled  to  look  within, 

And  scrutinize  the  thought ; 
To  check  the  feelings,  lest  they  sin, 

Before  the  deed  is  wrought; 
For  actions  never  would  transpire, 
If  motives  failed  to  feed  the  fire. 

And,  as  with  persons,  so  far  more 

With  nations,  tribes  or  race; 
The  golden  calf  they  can  adore, 

The  godlike  form  debase. 
Though  Sinai  speak  in  thunder-tone, 
The  people's  instincts  are  their  own. 

High-sounding  phrase,  the  bloody  deed, 

The  passionate  appeal. 
The  crazy  fervor  help  to  feed. 

While  hearts  grow  hard  as  steel ; 
And,  worse  than  all.  Religion's  priests 
Help  on  the  fray,  and  bless  the  feasts. 

Wave,  wave  the  flag !    Let  trumpets  blow ! 

Bring  forth  your  dearest  sons! 
Pour  countless  hosts  upon  the  foe! 

Besiege  with  monster  guns ! 
Bellona  screams,  unsheaths  her  sword! 
Millions  for  her  we  must  accord ! 

-97- 


The  Christian  faitli ;  the  arts  of  peace ; 

The  Fathers'  well-laid  plan ; 
The  fertile  fields,  whose  gifts  increase; 

The  priceless   rights   of   man ; 
All  this,  Columbia !  too  free ! 
Is  not  enough.     Alas !  for  thee ! 

Oh!  man!  placed  mid  the  clustering  suns! 

Mere  speck,  a  gleam,  a  trace; — 
Thy  doom  the  fool  reads  as  he  runs, — 

''Thou  livest  a  moment's  space." 
Man,  empires,  all  things,  seem  to  be 
Faint  ripples  on  a  boundless  sea. 


While  on  a  mossy  bank  I  sit. 

Slowly   the   western    skies. 
By  heavenly  beams  superbly  lit, 

Display  before  my  eyes. 
Mountains  of  clouds,  like  burnish'd  gold, 
A  gorgeous  wonder  to  behold. 

But,  as  I  rest,  still  lingering  here, 

The  pageant  fades  away; 
How  bright  the  end,  as  night  draws  near, 

Of  the  long,  busy  day! 
So  may  I  calmly  reach  life's  close, 
And  gain  well-merited  repose. 

-9S_ 


IN  ST.  PATRICK'S   CATHEDRAL,  AT  DUBLIN. 

The  deep-toned  organ  breathes  a  solemn  strain, 
And  softened  echoes  through  high  arches  wind; 
Religion,  here,  to  ev'ry  anxious  mind. 

Presents  her  perfect  cure  for  sin's  dread  stain. 

Within  this  gothic,  monumental  fane, 

Around  the  walls,  in  honor's  wreaths  entwined. 
The  tombs  of  Ireland's  worthiest  we  find, 

Who  here,  remembrance,  well-deserved,  attain. 

Great  God!  the  contrast  just  across  the  street. 
Where  degradation's  vilest  scenes  abound. 

And  ruin  deep  engulfs  man,  wife,  and  child. 

Oh !  haste  sweet  Charity,  with  steps  more  fleet ; 
Apply  with  skill  the  balm  true  love  has  found; 
So,  heaven  with  earth,  at  last,  be  reconciled. 


99- 


AN  OPTIMIST. 


Full  early  on  a  genial  morn, 

A  goodly  man-child,  I  was  born. 

Fine  health  kind  heaven  on  me  bestowed; 

My  infant  days  with  bliss  o'erflowed. 


Delights  increased  with  passing  years, 
Made  more  intense  by  short-lived  tears; 
Each  new  experience  brought  new  joy, 
To  me,  a  cheerful-hearted  boy. 


By  youth's  hopes  led,  how  much  I  sought! 
Of  course,  mere  day-dreams  came  to  naught; 
Yet,  one  great  treasure  I  possessed, — 
A  happy  heart  within  my  breast. 


When  manhod  came,  a  sunny  life 
Blest  me,  my  children,  and  my  wife; 
The  so-called,  carking  cares,  the  while, 
Were  wisely  treated  with  a  smile. 


And  now,  behold!  the  western  skies 
Surpass  in  splendor  the  sun's  rise! 
So,  my  old  age,  triumphant,  shows 
Life's  joys  increase  until  its  close! 

And  when,  at  last,  Death  comes  to  me, 
I  fain  would  greet  him  pleasantly; 
Nor  do  I  wish  my  friends  to  weep, 
When,  gently,  I  shall  drop  asleep. 


SKETCH  OF  A  PHILOSOPHY. 

In  the  boundless  aether-sea, 
With  no  pre-determined  goal, 

'Mid  uncounted  nebulae. 
Suns  and  systems  ever  roll. 

Motion  an  inherent  power, 
Now  a  rise  and  now  a  fall. 

Seen  alike  in  globe  and  flower; 
Change  is  written  over  all. 

Energy  eternal  reigns, 

Where  life  is  and  where  life  fails; 
Splendid  cosmos  it  sustains; 

For  all  forms  of  force  avails. 

Matter — spirit — abstract  terms, 
Which  no  entity  involve; 

All  experience  confirms 

Concrete  wholes  the  riddle  solve. 

Matter  pushed  to  an  extreme. 
Dissipates  in  spirit-guise; 

Spirit,  struggling  to  be  seen. 
Always  must  materialize. 


Form,  as  thought,  is  absolute, 

Pure  in  spiritual  youth; 
Form,  to  things,  we  must  impute, 

To  obtain  essential  truth. 

When  mere  matter  sublimates, 
Form  persists  within  the  mind; 

Which,  then,  beauty  contemplates, 
Transcendentally  refined. 

Latent  life  at  once  appears. 

When  conditions  fit  arise; 
Changing  forms  through  countless  years. 

As  the  out-worn  slowly  dies. 

Life,  with  all  its  joy  and  pain, — 
Plasmic  cell  contains  the  plan, — 

Pulses  through  its  protean  chain; 
Grandly  culminates  in  man. 

Man  is  one ;  and  deep  below 

Thought  and  feeling's  conscious  train. 
Occult  springs  of  action  flow 

Through  the  maze  of  nerves  and  brain. 

—  103- 


Man  is  free  t'  exert  his  will ; 

Little  is  by  this  expressed; 
Cause  of  will  is  deeper  still, 

Subtly  it  eludes  our  quest. 

Man  may  live  his  busy  day, 

Mind  aglow  with  brightest  thought, 
Quickly  all  must  fade  away, 

Grand  creations  sink  to  naught. 

Verdant  earth  and  burning  sun 

Evanescent  as  a  dream; 
Man,  and  all  that  man  has  done, 

But  a  ripple  on  a  stream. 

An  inexorable  law, 

Nature's  ever-working  force. 
Pressing  onwards  without  flaw, 

Rules  all  in  its  steady  course. 

Morals  out  of  customs  grow ; 

Customs  seek  to  keep  the  gain, — 
Prudence  long  has  found  to  flow, — 

From  a  conduct  fit  and  sane. 

— 104  — 


Morals  rest  upon  the  base 

Of  the  actual  state  of  things; 

That  is  right,  in  any  case, 

From  which  only  goodness  springs. 

True  religion,  undefiled, 

Is  the  aspiration  high; 
Life  to  live  most  reconciled 

To  all  truth  we  may  descry. 

With  conception  clear  and  vast 

Of  the  universe  we  see, 
Religion,  freed  from  errors  past, 

Promises  felicity. 

So,  while  time  and  thought  are  ours, 

We  acquire  self-control. 
To  unfold  our  varied  powers 

In  accordance  with  the  Whole. 

If,  too  blinded  we  pretend, 
T'  expel  nature  in  a  strife, — 

Folly!  it  can  only  end 
In  sad  forfeiture  of  life. 

-105- 


Yield!  stern  destiny  obey! 

Take  from  nature's  hand  the  prize ! 
Fill  with  life  each  passing  day ! 

This  the  wisdom  of  the  wise ! 


—  io6  — 


CREEDS. 

Long  years  I've  spent  in  study  over  creeds; 

Perplexed  by  questions  deep  beyond  reply; 

Now  tempted  to  affirm,  now  to  deny; 
Sad  paralyzing  influence  on  good  deeds. 

What  joy  to  follow  where  calm  nature  leads, 
And  roam  in  woods  or  fields  which  round  us  lie, 
To  gather  flowers,  or  behold  the  sky, 

And  thence  invoke  that  peace  the  spirit  needs. 

All  nature  speaks  to  man  with  tranquil  voice; 
He,  too,  her  child,  is  nurtured  on  her  breast; 
She  shows,  full  oft,  for  him  a  smiling  face. 

But  not  alone  for  him.     The  fields  rejoice. 

Birds  sing,  sun  shines,  vexed  ocean  sinks  to  rest, 
Bright  stars  roll  on  in  the  vast  sea  of  space. 


— 107  — 


AT  HARROW. 

From  Harrow's  Hill  I  view  the  landscape  o'er; 
Although  the  sun  sheds  bright,  meridian  rays, 
The  spacious  scene  is  veiled  by  a  soft  haze; 

A  lovely  view ;  need  poet  ask  for  more ! 

Here  the  historic  church  with  Norman  door, 

A  fitting  structure  for  man's  prayer  and  praise; 
Within,  quaint  mural  brasses  from  past  days; 

Aloft,  two  tatter' d  flags  repose  from  war. 

Here,  in  this  church-yard,  Byron  wished  his  grave, 
Unmarked  by  signs  of  pride  from  sculptor's  hand, 
Remembered  only  by  the  friends  most  dear. 

And  here,  my  gentle  friend,  pure,  true,  and  brave, 
Sleeps  her  last  sleep  far  from  her  native  land ; 
While  I  bedew  her  grave  with  friendship's  tear. 


-io8- 


THE  BUTTERFLY. 

See  yonder  butterfly  with  gorgeous  wing ! 

It  flutters,  fl.oats,  or  favors  a  sweet  flower ; 

Lives  gaily  its  bright  Hfe,  which  lasts  an  hour; 
'Tis  Psyche's  own,  scarce  a  material  thing. 

Those  airy  flittings  a  remembrance  bring 

Of  youthful  days,  when  such  rare  beauty's  power, 
Led  me  on  fevered  chase  from  bower  to  bower ; 

Caught,  crushed, — its  ruin  my  sad  heart  did  wring. 

As  frosts  of  age  have  settled  on  my  brow. 
Sedate,   I   muse  on  childhood's  eager  quest; 
And  yet,  desires  as  vain  invade  my  breast. 

In  form,  alas,  they  differ  greatly  now; 
The  guise  is  coarser,  deeper  the  unrest; 

The  fancied  prize,  if  gain'd,  finds  me  unblest. 


109  • 


A  RETROSPECT. 

An  old  cottage,  low  built,  by  a  stream  in  the  vale, 
Was  attractive  to  me  when  my  heart  was  still  young ; 

In  the  evenings  my  steps  led  me  there  without  fail, 
And  I  sat  on  the  porch  by  the  sweet  vines  o'erhung. 

The  grave  father  and  mother  were  kind  when  I  came; 

But  the  fair,  only  daughter,  was  coy  and  demure ; 
Yet  I  flattered  myself  that  I  hid  my  heart's  flame; 

And  I  thought  that,  with  patience,  my  quest  might  be  sure. 

After  parting,  full  oft,  I  retraced  my  long  way ; 

Saw  the  light,  through  her  window,  was  still  gleaming  bright ; 
Then  my  voice  loudly  carroled  a  well-known  roundelay; 

And  elated,  I  vanished,  concealed  by  the  night. 

But  at  length,  as  it  chanced,  I  decided  my  fate ; 

I  had  waited,  impatient,  to  find  her  alone ; 
Then  I  flared  forth  most  ardent ;  but  she  was  sedate, 

As  she  promised,  then  gave  me  her  hand  as  my  own. 

We  were  married  in  June ;  she  had  chosen  the  time ; 

Oh !  how  happy  we  were,  to  each  other  most  dear ! 
For  we  dwelt,  fill'd  with  peace,  in  a  heavenly  clime ; 

By  the  present  enchanted ;  the  future  most  clear. 


But,  full  many  a  year  has  rolled  darkly  since  then; 

It  is  just  like  a  dream ;  for  I'm  now  worn  and  old ; 
It  is  long  since  her  form  has  been  seen  among  men ; 

Ever  youthful  she  sleeps ;  ever  silent  and  cold. 

As  I  dwell  on  those  days,  and  consider  the  past; 

What  a  mockery  life  seems  to  be  for  the  heart! 
We  are  happy  awhile ;  but  our  joy  does  not  last ; 

We  may  meet,  and  we  love ;  alas !  then — we  must  part. 


THE  CLERK  ACROSS  THE  WAY. 


Yes,  I'm  the  little  chamber-maid, 
And  I  am  bright  and  gay, 

For  there  is  one  who  loves  me  well, 
He  lives  across  the  way. 

He  told  me  that  he  loved  me  well, 
The  clerk  across  the  way. 


And  when  he  told  me  of  his  love, 

I  could  not  help  but  say. 
Oh !  I'm  so  glad !  for  I  love  you, 

Let's  name  the  happy  day; 
But  he  looked  grave,  and  said  nay,  nay, 

That  clerk  across  the  way. 


So  then  I  pouted  and  shed  tears. 
But  he  explained  that  they 

Had  promised  him,  if  he  did  well. 
To  raise  quite  soon  his  pay ; 

And  then  he  kissed  me  tenderly. 
The  clerk  across  the  way. 


And  so,  I  brightened  up  and  asked 

How  long  we  must  delay  ? 
He  said  he  thought  'twould  be  three  months. 

Until  the  month  of  May; 
I  sighed,  but  saw  that  he  was  right, 

My  clerk  across  the  way. 

So,  though  before  I  could  not  save, 

Against  a  rainy  day, 
I've  now  enough  to  buy  my  dress. 

Gloves,  slippers  and  bouquet; 
Oh !  he  will  wonder  how  't  was  done ! 

My  clerk  across  the  way. 

The  other  girls  are  envious. 

Some  spiteful  things  they  say; 
I  do  not  mind  them  in  the  least, 

I  look  across  the  way. 
And  there  I  see  that  handsome  man, 

The  clerk  across  the  way. 

And  I  intend  to  ask  them  all 

To  see  the  fine  display, 
When  we  are  married  in  the  church. 

Upon  the  wedding  day; 
He'll  take  me  then,  in  bride's  array. 

My  clerk  across  the  way. 

—  113- 


And  when  we're  married,  then  will  come 

The  question  of  the  day, 
Which  one  of  us  will  "rule  the  roast?" 

The  family  sceptre  sway? 
Oh!  I'll  rule  him,— I'll  rule  by  love. 

My  clerk  across  the  way. 


CHAGRIN. 

Before  this  marble's  chiselled  power  and  grace, 
So  masterly  conceived,  so  finely  wrought, 
I  stand  as  spell-bound  by  the  artist's  thought; 

I  sigh  at  last,  and  slowly  leave  the  place. 

On  glowing  canvas  oft  I  love  to  trace. 

The  skill  by  which  the  painter  fitly  sought 
To  fix  the  fleeting  mood,  with  feeling  fraught. 

And  thus  I  gaze,  while  grief  steals  o'er  my  face. 

Whene'er  I  listen  to  symphonic  strain, 
The  music  lifts  me  to  sublimest  height; 
My  inmost  being  thrills  with  strange  delight. 

But,  as  it  wafts  me  on,  I  feel  sharp  pain. 

Oh!  fate,  how  sad!     No  work  of  mine  will  stand 
Time's  rigid  test.    My  name  is  writ  in  sand. 


-ii5- 


SEI  STILL  MEIN  HERZ. 


Ich  wahrte  die  Hoffiiung  tief  in  der  Brust, 

Die  sich  ihr  vertrauend  erschlossen, 

Mir  strahlten  die  Augen  voll  Lebenslust, 

Wenn  mich  ihre  Zauber  umflossen, 

Weiin  ich  ihrer  schmeichelnden  Stimme  gelauscht- 

Im  Wetterstrum  ist  ihr  Echo  verrauscht ; 

Sei  still,  mein  Herz,  und  denke  nicht  dran, 

Das  ist  nun  die  Wahrheit,  das  And're  war  Wahn. 


Die  Erde  lag  vor  mir  im  Friihlingstraum, 

Den  Licht  und  Warme  durchgliihte, 

Und  wonnetrunken  durchwallt'  ich  den  Raum; 

Der  Brust  entsprosste  die  Bliithe, 

Der  Liebe  Lenz  war  in  mir  erwacht, — 

Mich  durchrieselt  Frost,  in  der  Seele  ist  Nacht. 

Seil  still,  mein  Herz,  und  denke  nicht  dran, 

Das  ist  nun  die  Wahrheit,  das  And're  war  Wahn. 

-  ii6- 


Ich  baute  von  Blumen  und  Sonnenglanz 
Eine  Briicke  mir  durch  das  Leben, 
Auf  der  ich  wandelnd  im  Lorbeerkranz 
Mich  geweiht  dem  hochedelsten  Streben ; 
Der  Menschen  Dank  war  mein  schonster  Lohn, — 
Laut  auf  lacht  die  Menge  mit  frechem  Hohn. 
Sei  still,  mein  Herz,  und  denke  nicht  dran, 
Das  ist  nun  die  Wahrheit,  das  And're  war  Wahn. 

— Emanuel  Geibel. 


-  117  — 


BE  STILL  MY  HEART. 


I  cherished  fond  hope  so  deep  in  my  breast; 

I  loved  her  sincerely,  and  trusted  her  well; 
My  eyes  beamed  with  joy,  and  my  love  I  confessed; 

Most  weakly  I  gave  myself  up  to  her  spell. 
But,  as  I  recounted  her  flatteries  o'er; 

Lo !  passion's  wild  storm,  and  hate's  lurid  gleam, 
Be  still,  my  sad  heart,  muse  on  it  no  more ; 

This  now  is  the  real,  that  other  a  dream. 


Th'  earth  lay  before  me  in  earliest  spring; 

Mild  warmth  was  diffused,  light  over  all  danced; 
As  I  wandered  along  I  was  ready  to  sing. 

My  breast  heaved  with  bliss,  my  soul  was  entranced; 
On  love's  rainbow  wings  my  fancy  would  soar. 

Now  frost  chills  my  soul,  quite  hopeless  I  seem. 
Be  still,  my  sad  heart,  dwell  on  it  no  more ; 

This  now  is  the  real,  that  other  a  dream. 


-ii8- 


A  fairy-like  bridge  of  sunshine  and  flowers, 

I  built  for  myself,  my  passage  through  life; 
On  it,  poet-crowned,  I  sang  love's  bright  hours, 

Wearing  the  laurel,  despising  mean  strife; 
On  banners  aloft,  my  friends  my  name  bore. 

The  crowd  in  scorn  laugh,  contempt  loudly  scream. 
Be  still  my  sad  heart,  do  not  think  of  it  more; 

This  now^  is  the  real,  that  other  a  dream. 

— Translated  from  Emanuel  Geihel. 


119- 


LOVE. 

At  last  I  know  thee,  Love,  and  what  thou  art; 

At  first,  the  timid  glance,  the  gentle  sigh ; 

And  sweetest  nothings,  which  so  much  imply; 
Then  eye  to  eye,  and  throbbing  heart  to  heart. 

Of  thy  distresses  I  have  had  my  part ; 

Strange  fears  assuming  shapes  that  may  not  die; 

And  vain  appeals  to  motives  the  most  high ; 
And  garnered  wealth  bestowed  for  nameless  smart. 

Love !  thou  art  boundless !  that  I  know  full  well ! 

Outlasting  all  the  hopes  that  gave  thee  birth; 

Enduring  all  the  slights  and  shames  of  earth; 
Thy  woes  too  great  for  human  tongue  to  tell. 

Yet,  spite  of  fears,  and  dread,  and  loss,  and  pain. 
Life  wanting  thee  would  be  to  live  in  vain. 


THE  WAVES. 

Upon  the  shore,  in  childhood's  careless  day, 
I  built  my  petty  fortresses  of  sand, 
Unmindful  of  the  ruin  near  at  hand; 

Too  soon  the  rising  wave  washed  all  away. 

Along  the  shore  a  maiden  once  did  stray; 

I  followed,  gently  drawn  by  love's  strong  band, 
And  fondly  wrote  her  name  upon  the  strand; 

Which  the  cold  tide  effaced  with  short  delay. 

If  later,  in  life's  soberer  affairs, 

I  built  myself  some  fancied  fortress  high, 
Or  by  rare  token  thought  love  could  not  die ; 

All  sank  at  last,  submerged  by  surging  cares. 

Man's  works  are  doomed;  all  shall  be  as  before; 
Naught  but  sad  waves  on  a  resounding  shore. 


ON  THE  BIRTHDAY  OF  M.  L.  E.,  NOV.  30. 

My  Love !  when  first  I  dared  to  think  of  thee, 
My  heart  was  young,  my  life  before  me  lay, 
I  had  no  fears,  and  labor  seemed  but  play; 

Of  one  thing  I  was  sure, — felicity. 

And  so  it  proved ;  what  bliss  for  thee  and  me ! 
Though  cares  accumulated  day  by  day, 
'Twas  not  in  outward  things  to  take  away 

That  inward  peace  which  made  our  spirits  free. 

And  thus  we  lived  and  dream'd,  and  years  rolled  on ; 

Our  boundless  happiness  could  never  end; 

'Twas  like  the  air,  the  ocean,  or  the  sky ! 
But,  thou  art  dead;  and  all  is  past  and  gone; 

I  linger  still,  bereft  of  thee,  sweet  friend! 
And  wait  impatiently  my  time  to  die. 


LIFE'S  MYSTERIES. 

Each  has  his  own  horizon.    The  unknown, 
Of  infinite  extent,  excites  to  thought 
Or  random  guess,  with  disappointment  fraught ; 

We  yearn  for  bread,  stern  nature  gives  a  stone. 

Thick  clouds  and  dark  across  our  view  are  thrown ; 
The  wisest  by  experience  is  taught, 
No  matter  what  enhghtenment  he  sought, 

How  few,  small  grains  of  knowledge  are  his  own. 

Let  us,  then,  turn  and  study  our  own  mind. 

And  count  the  pulses  of  our  beating  heart. 

Oft  probe  our  motives  lest  we  basely  sin ; 

For  fear  an  equal  mystery  we  find 
In  hidden  self;  and  at  the  last  depart. 

Not  knowing  worlds  without,  nor  worlds  within. 


—  123  — 


THE  STONE  AGE. 

O'er  this  old  earth  ages  and  ages  sped, 

And  left  strange  tokens  of  their  course  to  tell ; 
Late  came  crude  man,  constrained  in  caves  to  dwell ; 

Who,  toiling,  chipped  the  flinty  arrow-head. 

Then  birds  and  beasts  from  the  bold  slayer  fled ; 

Those  who  dared  fight,  by  the  horn-dagger  fell; 

From  his  own  haunts  dread  danger  to  repel, 
The  brand  and  flaming  torch  their  terror  spread. 

Rude  speech  and  song  his  struggling  thought  made  known ; 
Asleep,  he  dreamed  he  saw  huge,  phantom  foes ; 
Awake,  strong  hunger  nerved  him  for  his  prey. 

This  brutish  being,  in  the  age  of  stone. 
Out  of  the  beast,  by  work  and  skill,  arose. 
And  forced  stern  nature  to  promote  his  sway. 


- 124  — 


PROGRESS. 

Since  man  began  his  toilsome  life  on  earth, 
Each  generation  has  increased  its   store; 
The  mind  enlarging  daily,  more  and  more, 

Gave  to  the  race  new  dignity  and  worth. 

The  lessons  learned  at  the  domestic  hearth; 

The  wise  traditions,  and  the  treasured  lore; 

Religion,  and  the  mythic  gods  of  yore; 
Placed  culture  high  among  "the  rights  of  birth." 

This  is  the  truth  to  which  the  seer  alludes, — 
"The  child  is  born  in  age  an  hundred  years;" 
Thus  eaglets  fan  thin  air  and  scorn  the  plain. 

The  occult  instincts,  inbred  aptitudes, 
And  spark  of  genius,  when  it  appears. 
Are  in  the  blood,  and  latent  in  the  brain. 


-125- 


MY  COUNTRY. 

My  Country !    I  had  hoped  to  see  thee  great ; 

And  growing  greater  with  the  march  of  time; 

With  honor  the  bright  path  of  glory  dimb; 
And  a  new  epoch  for  mankind  create. 

I  longed  to  see  thee  a  well-ordered  state; 

Promoting  virtue,  and  repressing  crime; 

In  peace,   surpassing  thy  heroic  prime; 
Free,  strong  and  wise,  and  master  of  thy  fate! 

But,  if  this  favored  land  contemn  the  past; 
If  vulgar  greed  supplant  the  nobler  aim; 
If  power  be  used  the  weaker  to  enthral; — 

Let  withered  hopes  to  the  wild  winds  be  cast ; 
Let  History  weep  to  write  the  page  of  shame; 
And  patriot  hearts  deplore  the  nation's  fall. 


126- 


THE  COSMOS. 

Prolific  complex  of  existing  things, 
Forever  working,  as  with  tireless  zeal, 
Regardless  of  what  men  call  woe  or  weal, 

Thy  august  drama  one  prime  lesson  brings : — 

From  smallest  bird  that  in  the  hedgerow  sings, 
From  tiny  motes  that  in  the  sunbeam  reel. 
From  microscopic  forms  that  still  can  feel. 

To  suns  remote  beyond  thought's  fleetest  wings; 

All,  through  the  teeming  fields  spread  out  in  space. 
Where' re  a  form  or  being  may  be  found, 
Or  silent,  or  when  heralded  with  sound, — 

All  play  their  parts  exactly  and  with  grace. 
No  transient  pageant  this,  mere  picture  bright; 
But,  living  whole  bathed  in  eternal  light. 


— 127  — 


SUNRISE. 

This  morning,  dull  and  languid  from  my  bed, 

I  rose  to  face  the  cares  of  daily  life. 

And  summon  resolution  for  the  strife 
With  things  perverse,  by  evil  forces  led. 

Then,  from  the  east,  the  early  gleams  of  light 

Transformed  the  sombre  clouds  that  hung  on  high; 
And  heavenly  colors  filled  the  joyous  sky; 

And  soon,  the  sun  itself  flash'd  on  my  sight. 

Scarce  breathing  for  delight,  I  watched  the  play ; 

Felt  each  new  change,  so  subtle,  yet,  so  still; 

Was  lifted  up,  as  if  by  godlike  will, 
To  the  calm  region  of  eternal  day. 

So  nature  charms  the  restless,  human  heart, 
And,  at  her  touch,  all  petty  cares  depart. 


— 128  — 


SUNSET. 

I  walk  along  the  shore  at  sunset's  hour; 

The  tumult  of  the  tossing-  waves  I  see ; 

They  heave,  they  roll,  they  dash  remorselessly, 
As  if  obedient  to  some  occult  power. 

And,  overarching  all,  how  grandly  tower, 

High  banks  of  dazzling  clouds,  fantastic,  free. 
Their  colors  blending  most  harmoniously! 

While,  as  a  background,  sullen  storm-clouds  lower. 

Reflective,  silent,  let  me  stand  and  gaze, 
And  feel  the  impress  of  that  force  sublime, 

Which  rolls  the  waves,  and  paints  the  skies  afar. 

Alas !  on  land,  in  many  ruthless  ways, 

Man's  baleful  influence  marks  the  course  of  time ; 
But,  here  are  wide  domains  he  cannot  mar. 


— 129  — 


SUBLIMITIES. 

How  pleased  I  am  that  for  my  natural  eye, 
My  hand-maid,  science,  has  provided  me 
With  power  to  probe  the  deep  immensity, 

Which  spreads  itself  throughout  the  starry  sky ! 

The  scene  enlarges  as  we  gaze  on  high ; — 
Here   law  and   order  show  their  ministry, 
And  silence  adds  to  the  sublimity; 

While  all  our  small  ambitions  sink  and  die. 

What,  then,  is  man?    He  is,  at  least,  a  part 
Of  the  one,  real,  transcendental  whole. 

Which  fills  all  space,  and  spurns  the  lapse  of  time. 

Why  should  we  falter  ?    Nay,  we  must  take  heart ; 
What  force  in  nature  can  surpass  the  soul  ? 
It  feels ;  it  thinks ;  it  wills ;  it  is  sublime ! 


TIME  AND  SPACE. 

Can  time  decide  when  the  vast  depths  of  space 
Contained  no  flaming  sun  or  satellite? 
When  not  a  sphere,  of  all  the  hosts  in  sight, 

Had  started  yet  to  run  its  heavenly  race  ? 

Or,  can  it  be,  the  majesty  and  grace. 

Of  what  so  beautifies  our  earthly  night, — 
Those  countless  orbs,  dispensing  life  and  light, 

Shall  shrink  to  nothingness,  and  leave  no  trace? 

If  a  beginning,  then,  indeed,  an  end ; 

If  out  of  nothing,  then  to  naught  the  fall ; 
And  space  again  be  empty  as  before. 

But,  thoughts  like  these  our  feeble  minds  transcend; 
In  vain,  we  on  imagination  call, 

If  space  be  void,  if  time  exist  no  more. 


DESPONDING. 

The  bitter  cup,  too  full,  becomes  malign; 

Our  human  plans  are  prone  to  go  astray; 

Bright  dreams  take  wings,  and  quickly  fly  away; 
And  hope  lies  dead  within  the  silent  shrine. 

But,  there  are  those  who  see  in  this — design ; 

Faith  must  be  proved,  as  if  by  fire,  they  say; 

Fruition  comes  after  a  long  delay; 
And  earthly  trials,  rightly  borne,  refine. 

So,  cruel  smarts,  and  every  nameless  woe, 
And  death  itself,  must  cheerfully  be  met; 
Another  world  will  rectify  our  lot. 

But,  there  are  pangs  with  awful  power  to  grow; 
A  wretched  past  the  heart  cannot  forget; 
That  happier  realm,  perhaps,  existeth  not. 


FLOWERS. 

In  my  small  garden  bloom  the  charming  flowers ; 

Each,  for  its  special  grace,  is  prized  and  known ; 

True  product,  sprouting  from  a  seed  well-sown ; 
To  thrive  in  sunny  as  in  shady  hours. 

When,  after  the  warm  day,  the  night-cloud  lowers. 

Each  wafts  an  exhalation  of  its  own ; 

Then  mingled  odors  on  the  air  are  thrown. 
And  flood  with  perfume  all  the  leafy  bowers. 

Bring  flowers  as  symbols  rare  and  pure  to  show 
That  innocence  enhances  loveliness ; 

Let  sight  of  them  diminish  our  distress, 

And  proffer  solace  in  the  midst  of  woe; 

For,  though  the  grave  may  close  o'er  our  lov'd  friend, 
The  Amaranth  assures — Hope  cannot  end. 


133- 


ON  LEAVING  MUNICH. 

Here  I  have  dwelt  beyond  a  score  of  years ; 

And  with  this  growing  city  I  have  grown; 

Its  priceless  treasures  used  as  if  my  own; 
To  leave  them  all,  may  well  demand  my  tears. 

Here  I  have  passed  through  seasons  of  delight ; 

Experienced,  too,  a  very  tide  of  woe ; 

My  step  alert  has  changed  to  one  more  slow; 
The  once  brown  hair  is  now  a  silvery  white. 

So  long  to  dwell  by  Isar's  rushing  stream ; 

And  learn  to  know  Bavaria's  sturdy  race; 

In  her  famed  schools  of  thought  received  with  grace, 
By  friends,  rare  men,  high  in  the  world's  esteem : — 

For  all  these  benefits,  deep  in  my  heart 
Swells  boundless  gratitude,  as  I  depart. 

AUgemeine  Zeitung,  April,  1894. 


-134- 


TRANSLATION. 

BY  PROF.   H.   BRUNN,   OF  THE  POLYTECHNIC  SCHOOL, 
IN  MUNICH. 

Hier  liab  'ich  nun  Jahrzehnte  lang  gewohnt 
Entwickelt  hab'  ich  mich  mit  dieser  Stadt, 
Genossen  all'  die  Schatze,  die  sie  hat — 
So  dass  der  Abschied  wohl  die  Thrane  lohnt. 

Durchmessen  hab'  ich  hier  der  Freuden  Kreis, 
Darin  erduldet  eine  Fluth  von  Weh, 
Mein  Schritt  war  flink,  ist  trager  nun  wie  eh', 
Das  braune  Haar  von  einst  ward  silberweiss. 

So  lang  inwohner  an  der  Isar  Strand, 

Wo  Baierns  Stamm  in  seiner  Urkraft  spriesst. 

In  jeder  Geisteswerkstatt  lieb  begriisst 

Von  Freunden,  seltnen  Mannern,  weltbekannt, 

Fiir  all  die  Wohl  that  quillt  aus  Herzensgrunde 
Mein  heisser  Dank  jetzt,  in  der  Scheidestunde. 


-135 


IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  LUXEMBOURG. 

In  early  morn,  in  this  fair  garden-ground, 
I  sit  and  muse,  by  grateful  silence  blest. 
The  tired  city  sleeps.     No  sounds  infest 

The  stillness  of  this  solitude  profound. 

But,  as  the  light  increases,  men  awake; 

The  noise  and  hum  of  human  life  draws  near; 

In  haste  to  work,  strong  laborers  appear; 
While  many  birds  their  timely  music  make. 

A  few  hours  later,  crowds  of  children  play, 

They  run,  they  scream,  with  an  exuberant  life ; 
And  yet,  although  excited,  no  rude  strife 

Disturbs  the  pleasant  strolls  of  ladies  gay. 

The  fountains  flow,  the  flowers  scent  the  air, 
All  ranks,  all  ages  here  are  free  from  care. 


136- 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  PARIS. 

Believing  men,  eiglit  hundred  years  ago, 
Through  faith  in  mysteries  but  dimly  seen, 
And  from  devotion  to  their  heavenly  queen, 

This  temple  built  their  love  and  trust  to  show. 

The  gothic  lines  upsoar  from  things  below; 

The  lofty  towers  guard  well  the  porch  between; 

The  buttressed  apse  presents  its  mazy  scene; 
And  Fancy's  sculptured  thoughts  their  charm  bestow. 

The  doors  are  open,  and  I  venture  in ; 

How  chill  the  air !  no  worshipper  appears ; 

At  length  'tis  felt  there  was  no  fall  from  grace; 

That  priests  are  vain  to  shrive  a  soul  from  sin. 
Now,  faith  in  man  brightens  advancing  years; 
The  living  temple  is  the  human  race! 


137- 


A  REMINISCENCE. 

While  through  my  youth  kind  parents  sought 
To  train  me  well,  to  guide  my  thought, — 
Of  life  and  God  they  urged  a  view. 
Which,  later,  proved  to  be  untrue. 

A  stern,  old  creed,  of  dogmas  grim, 
Enforced  by  prayer,  and  sung  in  hymn, 
Poisoned  too  soon  the  fount  of  mirth, 
And  spoiled  for  me  both  heaven  and  earth. 

By  day,  a  tumult  in  my  breast, — 
A  sense  of  sin, — robbed  me  of  rest ; 
At  night,  upon  my  bed  I  tossed. 
And  dreamed  myself  among  the  lost. 

Would  I  do  good,  like  Paul,  of  old, 
Evil  was  present,  strong  and  bold; 
In  the  arena  of  my  heart. 
Angels  and  Demons  played  their  part. 

The  raging  storm,   the  lightning's   stroke. 
Which  rent  in  twain  the  sturdy  oak. 
Sickness  and  death,  the  grave,  the  clod, 
Were  tokens  of  an  angry  God. 

-138- 


And  yet,  the  sun  poured  forth  his  light, 
And  gorgeous  clouds  entranced  the  sight, 
And  every  blossom  of  the  field, 
Beauty  and  peace  and  hope  revealed. 

Then,  I  reflected, — Could  it  be 
That  man  was  made  for  misery? 
Was  not  beneficence  the  end 
To  which  the  laws  of  nature  tend? 

Response  was  given  in  forests  wide. 
Where  ever-murmuring  streams  replied; 
The  insect  throng,  the  woodland  dove. 
Made  known  life's  unison  with  love. 

And  oft,  at  night,  I  gazed  on  high, 
And  watched  the  quiet,  starry  sky; 
And  thus,  at  length,  my  anxious  soul 
Grew  calm  through  reason's  sane  control. 

What  if  some  ills  of  life  were  great ! 
These  science  strove  to  mitigate. 
And  even  cure;  for  the  world's  pain, 
Charms,  myths  and  amulets  were  vain. 

— 139  — 


Then,  every  day,  it  seemed  more  clear, 
Life  should  be  joyous,  thought  sincere; 
That  man,  'mid  nature,  should  be  free; 
The  heir  of  all  the  ages  he. 

Sad  were  those  blighted  days  of  youth, 
When  superstition  obscur'd  truth; 
Now  slowly  glide  the  peaceful  years, 
Unvexed  by  spiritual  fears. 


— 140  — 


THE  STORM. 

The  rain-charged  clouds  scud  o'er  the  stormy  sky; 

The  blust'ring  wind  refuses  to  be  still ; 

Strong  oaks  are  bending  to  its  ruthless  will, 
And  beast  and  bird  before  its  fury  fly. 

Far  out  at  sea  vast  waves  roll  mountain-high ; 
Yet,  tossing  ships,  manned  with  consummate  skill, 
Use  e'en  this  blast  their  mission  to  fulfill ; 

And  trim  their  sails,  and  winds  and  waves  defy. 

Thus,  'mid  the  storms  of  life.  Oh!  thoughtful  soul! 
Undaunted  keep  thy  chosen  course  in  view ; 

What  adverse  winds  may  blow,  compel  to  serve. 

So,  shalt  thou  warring  elements  control; 
From  day  to  day  thy  needed  strength  renew ; 
Nor  wish  from  norm  of  rectitude  to  swerve. 


BEAUTY  AND  TRUTH. 

Transforming  Spirit,  ruling  everywhere! 

Adorning  all  things  by  thy  touch  divine! 

Evoking  beauty,  and  thus  making  thine, 
By  simplest  means,  the  nobler,  purer,  rare ! — 

What  words  describe  thee,  fairest  of  the  fair! 

What  joy,  that  thou  didst  to  my  heart  incline ! 

That,  in  true  worship,  I  could  call  thee  mine. 
And  on  my  brow  thy  festive  chaplet  wear ! 

But  later,  as  my  mind  still  clearer  grew. 

And  thought  had  calmed  my  too  impetuous  fire, 
A  kindred  Spirit  urged  me  to  aspire 

To  knowledge  wider,  permanent  and  true. 

The  clear,  deep  streams  of  joy  perennial  run, 
In  hearts  where  Truth  and  Beauty  reign  as  one. 


IMMORTALITY. 

Immortal  and  Eternal ;  in  our  speech, 

These  words  sound  grandly  to  our  human  ears ; 
Applying  them,  a  vain  self-love  appears, 

Creating  hopes  for  gifts  beyond  man's  reach. 

Events  around  us  sterner  lessons  teach; 

Here  all  things  change  and  fade  and  meet  their  end ; 

The  strongest  minds  to  senile  weakness  tend; 
Our  lives  make  final  wreck  on  death's  lone  beach. 

And  who  would  wish,  wrapt  in  complete  repose, 
To  be  aroused,  and  forced  to  live  again? 
If  earthly  memories  at  all  remain. 

Could  heaven's  own  bliss  obliterate  our  woes? 

To  live  anew,  whate'er  the  fancied  plan. 
Would  chang-e  us  so  that  man  would  not  be  man. 


—  143  — 


CLOUDS. 

Light  float  the  clouds  in  th'  etherial  sea; 

Their  varied  shapes  a  wonder  to  behold ; 

Some  tinged  with  pink  or  red,  and  some  with  gold ; 
They  form,  at  eve,  the  sun's  rich  canopy. 

In  glassy  lake  appears  once  more  to  me 
The  scene  reflected  from  the  waters  cold; 
Redoubled  splendor,  framed  by  mountains  old ; 

Which  thrills  me  like  a  heavenly  rhapsody. 

E'en  as  I  gaze,  the  glory  fades  away; 
The  chilly  air  recalls  me  from  my  dream; 

The  sombre  shades  of  night  creep  up  the  west. 

The  dull  world  then  resumes  its  potent  sway. 

Bright,  charming  visions !    O !  how  brief  they  seem ! 
My  heart,  alas,  but  for  a  moment  blest. 


— 144  — 


REVERIES  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

Here  stands  the  church  to  which  I  used  to  go 
In  childhood,  led  by  my  fond  mother's  hand ; 
Where,    listening,    I    failed  to   understand; 

The  while  the  pealing  organ  thrille4  me  so. 

Then  I  was  wont  to  let  my  fancies  flow 

In  dreams  about  the  wondrous,  heavenly  land, 
Where  angels  strolled  by  a  bright  river's  strand, 

And  pitied  those  who  dwelt  on  earth  below. 

And  oft  I  wondered  why  this  world  so  fair, 
Whose  charms  were  far  too  many  to  be  told, 
And  life  so  happy  seemed  for  young  and  old, 

Where  flowers  bloomed  and  perfumes  filled  the  air. 

Should  show  dread  signs  of  woe,  sad  weeping  eyes, 
And  cause  angelic  breasts  to  heave  with  sighs. 


-  145 


AN  AGED  MAN'S  EXPERIENCE. 

The  splendid  dreams  of  youth, 
Painted  by   fancy's  aid, 

Now,  judged  by  sober  truth. 
Prove  that  bright  visions  fade. 

Ambition  once  I  had ; 

I  would  be  known  and  great; 
My  rivals  called  me  mad; 

I  failed;  I  met  my  fate. 

A  poor  old  man  am  I; 

More  strength  would  be  a  boon ; 
When  mounting  heights  I  sigh; 

Weak  limbs  are  tired  soon. 

Bald  the  once  curly  head; 

Sounds  become  undefined ; 
Passion's  hot  flame  is  dead; 

Changes  find  me  resigned. 

By  fire,  by  flood  destroyed. 

Brief   was   its    fleeting   stay, 
The  wealth  I  once  enjoyed. 

How  soon  it  passed  away. 

— 146  — 


Friends  sharing  joys  and  fears, 
Their  worth  beyond  all  praise, 

Are  gone;  I  mark  with  tears, 
My  solitary  days. 

The  crowning  loss  of  all, 
Of  her  I  may  not  speak, — 

Intensified  my  fall 

To  old  age  lone  and  weak. 

And  yet,  how  much  remains !     . 

My  mind,  my  thought  is  free ! 
How  estimate  the  gains, 

The  wealth  of  memory ! 

Swift  as  a  flash  of  light. 

Each  scene  of  long-past  years, 

With  outlines  sharp  and  bright. 
Before  my  gaze  appears. 

And  love's  warm,  pulsing  tide, 
Still  surges  through  my  heart; 

Growing  more  deep  and  wide, 
As  earthly  gifts  depart. 

—  147  — 


Now  with  my  books  at  peace, 
The  outside  world  forgot, 

From  woe  a  sure  release, — 
This  pleasure  changes  not. 

Amid  the  healthful  air. 
The  Poets  work  their  spell, 

Transmute  the  clouds  of  care. 
And  make  the  ailing  well. 

In  the  calm  realms  of  thought, 
I  meet  the  good  and  great, 

Their  words  with  wisdom  fraught. 
Illume  a  sombre  fate. 

Thus,  though  a  lone,  old  man. 
Life  is  like  mellow  wine; 

The  goblet  I'll  not  scan, 
Whose  nectar  is  divine ! 


NIGHT. 

Alone  I  walk  the  quiet  streets  at  night : 
All  is  so  still  where  rush  and  roar  by  day- 
Disturbed  the  mind ;  nor  can  the  fancy  play 

With  hard  reality  in  colors  bright. 

But  now,  with  outlines  soft,  in  dim  starlight, 
And  all  hues  faded  into  sober  gray, 
My  tired  eyes  can  rest ;  while,  far  away, 

I  gaze  in  peace  on  heaven's  transcendent  sight. 

Though  earthly  scenes  must  change  as  years  roll  by, 
We  wisely  leave  behind  our  own  dead  past; 
Would  not  on  the  irrevocable  dwell. 

But  this  supernal  scene,  this  crowded  sky, 
Is  the  same  spectacle,  enchanting,  vast. 
Which  in  our  early  youth  we  loved  so  well. 


THE  GLOWING  COALS. 

Here,  by  the  evening  fire,  I  gaze 
At  glowing  coals  and  fitful  blaze. 

As  on  a  stage,  before  my  eyes. 
By  fancy's  aid,  these  scenes  arise. 

An  ancient  house,  with  portal  wide, 
A  road  with  trees  on  either  side. 

On  rustic  bench  beneath  a  tree. 
Two  lovers,  side  by  side,  I  see. 

Some  earnest  words,  then  hand  in  hand, 
They  walk  and  at  the  portal  stand. 

An  interval, — the  fire  burns   low, 
The  embers  lose  their  magic  glow. 

And  now,  once  more,  the  fire  Is  bright, 
The  ancient  house  stands  in  the  light. 

A  long  procession  at  its  head, 

A  bridegroom  and  his  bride,  just  wed. 

All  through  the  portal  gaily  go. 
I  wish  them  joy.     The  fire  is  low. 

—  150  — 


TO  DUTY. 

The  morning  dawns,  and  chanticleer  aloud 
Proclaims  the  sun  is  surely  drawing  near; 
But,  ere  it  rises,  gathering  mists  appear, 

Which  all  its  glories  dismally  enshroud. 

So,  melancholy,  lone  amidst  the  crowd, 

I  fancy  brightness  comes  my  lot  to  cheer; 

But,  scarcely  yet  begun, — Oh !  change  most  drear ! 

Hope's  rays  are  dimmed  by  Care's  dull,  leaden  cloud. 

Let  virtue   show  its  own,  transcendent  power! 
Oh !  heart !  be  resolute  o'er  adverse  fate ! 
And  all  the  claims  of  duty  well  fulfill ! 

Nor  ask  from  heaven  any  richer  dower 

Than  strength  to  bear,  or  high  or  low  estate. 
With  dignity  and  never-yielding  will. 


■  151  — 


AT  A  SYMPHONY  OF  BEETHOVEN. 
Quartette  in  A  Minor,  Op.  132. 

Now  I  am  lifted  to  the  seventh  heaven ! 

Strange  harmonies  waft  my  rapt  soul  on  high ! 

Bright  scenes  ineffable  before  me  lie, 
To  mortal  vision  all  too  seldom  given. 

Forth  from  the  realm  of  thought  all  mists  are  riven; 

As  I  advance,   dark  clouds  before  me  fly; 

While  depths  profound,  which  deeper  depths  imply, 
Yawn  under  me  as  I  am  onwards  driven. 

What  wond'rous  spell  in  thy  symphonic  strains ; 
To  raise,  expand,  o'erwhelm  the  human  soul! 
Revealing  thy  illimitable  power! 

Creator,  thou !  from  thee  my  spirit  gains 

(As  here   I  yield  my  mind   to  thy  control,) 
Celestial  bliss,  in  this  ecstatic  hour! 


152- 


THE  MORNINGSIDE  PARK,  NEW  YORK  CITY. 

A  happy  thought  evoked  the  verdure  here, 

And  ordered  winding  walks  and  shrubs  and  trees, 
Where  children's  gambols  their  fond  parents  please, 

And  rocks  titanic  picturesque  appear. 

And  this  cyclopean  wall. — not  built  in  fear, 
As  rampant,  lest  an  enemy  might  seize 
A  coign  of  vantage. — but.  to  support  with  ease 

The  rising  road  from  which  our  view  is  clear. 

There  to  the  east,  towards  Long  Island  Sound, 
A  distant  sail  now  glimmers  in  the  sun ; 
To  west.  Grant's  Tomb,  where  Hudson's  waters  run; 

Far  north,  the  city  stretches  to  its  bound. 

And  southvv-ard.  sympathizing,  hand  in  hand, 
Cathedral,  Hospital  and  College  stand. 

I.  Cathedral  of  St.  John  ;  2.  Hospital  of  St.  Luke  ;  3.  Columbia  College. 


-153- 


THE  SPIRIT'S  POWER. 

One  by  one,  as  on  we  journey, 

Friends,  alas !  drop  from  the  way ; 
And  the  flinty  road  before  us. 

Calls  for  courage,  day  by  day; 
Yet  the  bodily  powers  are  growing 

Less  and  less  with  each  new  stage. 
Forcing  us  to  feel  th'  unwelcome 

Weakness  of  advancing  age. 

But  the  spirit,  still  undaunted. 

Stronger  grown  with  each  new  strain, 
Urges  vigorously  forwards, 

Notwithstanding  toil  and  pain. 
With  ideals  to  accomplish. 

Not  beyond  our  conscious  force, 
We  mount  upwards,  ever  upwards, 

To  complete  our  chosen  course. 

While  we  mount,  how  hard  soever 

Proves  the  road  we're  led  to  take. 
We  march  on  it,  feeling  certain, 

Naught  can  resolution  break; 
And  we  have  a  joy,  the  deepest 

Human  heart  can  ever  know. 
In  the  consciousness  of  mastery 

Over  all  things  here  below. 

-154- 


What!  shall  we  allow  our  nature 

To  descend  to  meaner  joy? 
With  wide  fields  of  thought  before  us, 

Fitted  noblest  gifts  t'  employ? 
Though  the  road  is  steep  and  lonely, 

And  the  breeze  blows  cold  and  keen, 
Outward  hindrances  are  trifles 

To  the  power  within,  unseen. 

Be  of  good  cheer !  heart  within  us ! 

Courage  conquers  in  the  end ; 
Obstacles  that  seem  to  thwart  us, 

Can  be  ordered  to  befriend; 
All  things  hasten  to  assist  us. 

For  all  nature  is  but  one. 
And  at  last  we  shall  look  backwards, 

On  a  course  of  duty  done. 

As  we  journey,  all  grows  purer. 

Prospect  widens,  skies  are  bright. 
Every  new  advance  discloses 

Copious  sources  of  delight ; 
And  we  learn,  by  our  experience. 

Common  ills  cannot  control. 
The  glad  freedom  of  the  spirit. 

And  the  progress  of  the  soul. 

-155- 


A  VISION. 

Last  night,  within  the  confines  of  my  room, 

Half-Ht  to  shield  my  over-tired  eyes, 

I  saw  distinctly,  to  my  great  surprise,  « 

The  outlines  of  an  ancient,  lonely  tomb ; 
Moss-covered,  framed  by  weeds, — so  apt  to  assume 

Rank  shapes, — which  hid  in  part  its  proper  size, 

While  adding  to  its  venerable  guise; 
And  pall-like  clouds  intensified  the  gloom. 
Alert,  I  scanned  what  name  and  date  were  there; 

And  saw  mine  own,  carved  on  the  crumbling  stone ; 
The  date  read  just  five  hundred  years  ago. 
I  woke,  and  thought ; — This  vision  would  declare 

What  shall  be  in  the  future,  when,  alone. 

The  owl  speaks  wisdom,  and  the  night  winds  blow. 


156 


WINGS. 

To  fly  from  dull,  unsatisfying  things ; 

From  stagnant  streams  that  fester  in  the  sun ; 

From  works  that  never  should  have  been  begun; 
From  noisome  dens,  fit  but  for  beasts, — wings !  wings ! 

To  fly  from  fools,  and  low-bred  underlings ; 

Their  sordid  ways  and  vanities  to  shun ; 

To  breathe  pure  air  when  the  clear  heights  are  won ; 
For  this  my  spirit  longs,  and  cries, — wings !  wings ! 

Strong  aspirations  for  the  good  and  true ; 
A  soaring  zeal  faith  can  alone  impart ; 

And  buoyant  hope  which  its  own  rapture  brings. 

No  timid  flutter,  nor  short-sighted  view. 

But,  love's  broad  pinions  serving  the  full  heart. 
Thou  canst  fly  far,  my  soul !  with  such-like  wings ! 

January  i,  igoi. 


/ 


-157 


BLESSEDNESS  IN  NATURE. 

A  quiet  hour.    Behold  the  trees 
Swayed  gently  by  the  morning  breeze ; 
Upturned  each  leaf  to  drink  the  dew, 
Or  catch  the  light,  and  life  renew. 

What  charm  all  Nature's  movements  show! 
Life  from  her  pulses  doth  o'erflow 
To  leaf,  to  tree, — and  so  to  all, — 
Each  throbbing  thing,  or  great  or  small. 

The  tree,  the  leaf,  the  breeze,  the  light; 
The  mysteries  also  of  the  night; 
Help  to  complete  the  cosmic  whole, 
Which  rules  our  body  and  our  soul. 

A  blessing  thus  to  feel  and  know 
From  whence  we  are,  and  where  we  go ; 
No  futile  quests  our  thoughts  annoy; 
Peace, — peace  is  ours  without  alloy. 

June,  1901. 


-158- 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS  AND  THE  PLAINS. 
FROM    DENVER. 


'Tis  early  morn,  and  from  my  bed  I  haste, 
To  gaze  upon  the  western  mountain-chain. 
How  clear  the  view  of  the  extended  range, 
Which  sweeps  along  from  north  to  south  so  far, 
That  distant  Pike's  Peak  clothes  itself  with  haze. 
Its  gauze-like  veil  dim-colored  by  the  dawn! 
The  nearer,  snow-clad  heights  grow  slowly  pink, 
Touched  by  the  rising  sun's  first,  level  rays. 
As  day  begins.     How  peaceful  and  sublime! 
How   pure  the  rosy   tips   immaculate! 

-159- 


From  out  the  night,  they  waken  to  new  life, 

And  send  their  prayer-like  messages  of  grace 

Up  through  the  clear,  blue  sky  to  heaven's  gates. 

Arise !  my  soul !  and  worship  silently ! 

Words  would  be  vain.     Let  feelings  soar  on  high; 

The  deepest  sources  of  emotion  yield 

The  harmonies  of  praise !     Let  nature's  throbs 

Respond   within,   and  tune   thee   to   accord ! 

As  day  advances,  blended  light  and  shade, 

And  changing  colors,  add  their  varied  hues ; 

And  morning-mists,  and  fleecy,  tenuous  clouds. 

Float  near  the  lofty  summits  of  the  range. 

Here,  in  the  foreground,  sleeps  this  busy  mart; 

Too  much  immersed  .in  crude,  material  things ; 

Its  thoughts,  its  troubled  dreams  of  hoped-for  gains, 

A  potent,  demon-spell  to  blear  the  sight; 

So  that  the  treasures  of  the  earth  and  sky. 

Immense,  profuse,  exhaustless  as  the  soul. 

Are  scarcely  seen,  nor  move  the  callous  heart. 

These  tow'ring  mountains,  with  majestic  lines, 
Outstretched,  and  winding  through  a  continent; 
And  these  wide  plains,  uplifted,   table-lands, 
Raised  to  the  sunlight,  up  beyond  low  clouds; 

—  i6o  — 


Fanned  by  the  pure,  the  heahng  breath  of  heaven ; 
Have  had  a  marvelous,  exciting  past; 
And  yield,  when  science  clarifies  the  mind, 
Strange  visions  of  a  teeming  life,  of  change 
Through  countless  cycles,  ere  the  'plenished  earth 
Became  a  home  for  man ;  with  incidents 
Beyond  imagination's  boldest  guess ; 
Protean  life  evolving  without  end ! 

The  geologic  records  still  exist. 

And  mark  the  birth  of  crystals,  rocks  and  clays, 

And  faint  beginnings  of  the  pristine  germs 

In  cell  and  plant ;  and  varied  higher  types 

In  water,  earth  and  sky,  formed  and  transformed, 

Which  flourished,  link  by  link,  until  outworn. 

In  later  ages  here  rolled  stormy  seas, 
To  dash  against  the  low,  cretaceous  shores. 
And  breed  huge  monsters,  eager  to  disport. 
Or  race  with  fearful  speed  to  fill  their  jaws 
With  countless  myriads  of  feebler  spawn. 
And,  flying  o'er  the  surface,  in  dense  air. 
Gigantic,  winged  beasts,  yet  inchoate  birds, 
Swoop'd  on  their  prey ;  or,  screaming,  soared  aloft 
To  wage  fierce  contests  in  the  heated  sky. 

—  i6i- 


They,  also,  passed  away.     The  very  seas 
Exhaled,  and  left  these  plains,  their  ancient  beds, 
All  filled  with  rigid  husks  of  vanished  life. 
Oft,  'mid  volcanic  fires,  and  noise  immense, 
Thick  streams  of  glowing  lava  coursed  along; 
While  sombre,  murky  skies,  and  sulphurous  clouds, 
Rain'd  down  a  muddy  deluge. 

The  earth  groan'd 
As  slowly  were  upheaved,  from  lowest  depths. 
New  landmarks,  crags  on  crags,  titanic  peaks. 
Which  split  the  spreading  continent  in  twain ; 
To  be  for  many  centuries  to  come, 
Dread,  frowning  ramparts  'gainst  the  surging  "Sast. 

While,  at  their  base,  these  lofty,  parched  lands. 
Where  scanty  vegetation  strove  to  grow, 
Resounded  'neath  the  mammoth's  ponderous  tread, 
And  felt  wild  herds  of  smaller  beasts  sweep  by. 
Could  we  by  wizard  wand  at  once  disclose 
What  here  has  been, — the  throng  of  active  life, 
All  clothed  in  beauty  out  of  fitness  born, — 
'Twould  be  a  vision  of  a  busy  world. 
Which  rose,  and  greatly  flourished,  then  decayed. 
As  ages  rolled  their  countless  years  along. 

— 162  — 


But  when,  through  human  ignorance  and  pride, 
Man  looks  on  nature,  'mid  her  varied  charms, — 
The  mountains  and  the  plains,  oceans  and  lakes, 
And  all  the  myriad  forms  of  life  therein ; 
The  insect  tribes,  and  strangely  creeping  things; 
The  reptiles,  and  the  birds  of  flashing  wing; 
The  transient  flowers,  and  hoary  forest  trees, — 
And  then,  unconscious  victim  of  mere  self. 
Asserts, — "My  Father  made  all  this  for  me!" 
Calm  nature  treats  his  childish  speech  with  scorn, 
And  points  in  silence  to  the  lapse  of  time, 
Through  untold  ages,  while  our  earth  was  young. 
And  peopled  by  its  hosts  of  living  forms. 

Man  boasts  himself  creation's  rightful  lord ; 
But,  where  was  he  when  these  unstoried  scenes 
Were  acts  in  the  world-drama,  slowly  played, 
Upon  the  outspread  earth,  'neath  watchful  stars? 
At  last,  unheralded,  full  late  he  came; 
But,  he  came  not  to  rule  as  lord  of  all ; 
'Twere  well,  could  he  but  learn  to  rule  himself ; 
The  little  he  controls  goes  often  wrong ; 
And  august  nature  clears  his  works  away. 


163 


KARL    AND    BERTHA. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  RHINE. 


CANTO  I. 


Beside  the  Rhine,  some  centuries  ago, 
Rudolphus,  baron,  dwelt  on  his  domain, 
Surrounded  by  his  vassals,  high  and  low, 
Who  lived  contented  under  his  mild  reign; 
They  were  the  social  body,  he  the  brain ; 
Their  fortunes  closely  joined,  master  and  man, 
In  peace  or  war,  in  sunshine  or  in  rain; 
All  for  the  common  interest  quickly  ran. 
Where  any  danger  threatened  their  beloved  clan. 

•       -  i65  - 


II. 


Upon  steep  crags,  which  reared  themselves  on  high, 
The  baron's  castle  courted  every  breeze; 
From  its  old  battlements,  the  watcher's  eye, 
O'er  river,  field  and  wood,  could  roam  at  ease ; 
While  all  within,  ready  like  wasps  or  bees. 
Could  sally  forth,  and  utterly  destroy 
The  fools  who  rashly  should  attempt  to  seize 
The  stronghold ;  or  might  strategem  employ; 
And  thus,  in  robber  zeal,  the  lord  and  clan  annoy. 


III. 


The  baron  and  his  wife  had  long  been  wed; 
For  years  they  wished  a  child  might  bless  their  lot ; 
Her  earnest  prayers  early  and  late  were  said. 
No  amulet  or  charm  had  she  forgot, 
By  which  to  thwart  what  seemed  to  her  a  plot ; 
When,  just  as  hope  had  almost  died  away. 
For  still  her  patron-saint  responded  not, 
A  son  was  born;  which  proved,  if  mothers  pray. 
Their  heartfelt  faith  prevails,  and  changes  night  to  day. 

— 166  — 


IV. 


The  child,  called  Karl,  from  mother's  father  named, 
Grew  finely,  scion  worthy  of  his  sires; 
Kind,  cheerful,  strong,  and  yet  but  seldom  blamed 
By  those  compelled  to  curb  his  young  desires ; 
They  ruled  him  well,  not  quenching  native  fires, 
But  wisely  granting  freedom  to  explore 
The  wondrous  natural  world  that  never  tires, 
Revealing  charms,  which  increase  more  and  more. 
Thro'  all  the  changing  years,  until  this  life  is  o'er. 


V. 


Oft  in  the  garden  he  would  pass  bright  hours, 
And  watch  the  bees  and  painted  butterflies, 
On  sweets  intent,  steal  from  the  helpless  flowers : 
Or,  when  he  heard,  would  strain  his  youthful  eyes 
To  see  the  lark,  who  sang  far  up  the  skies ; 
Or  with  his  mother,  strolling,  hand  in  hand, 
He  learn'd  the  myths  of  gnomes  of  pigmy  size. 
Who  dwelt  in  rocks  and  caves,  and  held  command 
Of  stones  and  trees  and  shrubs  throughout  the  widespread  land. 

-167- 


VI. 


The  children  of  the  vassals  willingly 
Received  him  in  their  various  games  of  skill, 
And  urged  him  on  to  deeds  of  bravery; 
Encouraged  him  when  showing  ready  will 
To  suffer  hardships,  and  all  rules  fulfill ; 
And  thus  he  learned  to  run,  and  jump,  and  throw 
The  quoit,  and  wrestle  with  his  equals,  till 
All  wondered  at  the  vigor  he  could  show, 
And  for  a  daring  feat,  would  loud  applause  bestow. 


VII. 


His  father,  skillful  horseman,  fittest  guide, 
Took  pleasure  in  his  efforts  to  excel; 
Taught  him  to  drive,  gave  him  a  horse  to  ride. 
And  stimulated  him  to  do  tasks  well ; 
And,  when  he  failed,  still  proud  success  compel. 
At  times,  at  hunts,  he  showed  no  childish  fear, 
But  watched  the  coverts  where  the  game  might  dwell; 
Or,  with  delight,   gazed  at  the  bounding  deer, 
And  heard  the  hunters'  horns  resounding  far  or  near. 

—  i68  - 


VIII. 

And  thus  he  hved  in  the  pure,  country  air, 
A  pleasant,  fearless,  and  warm-hearted  boy; 
Contented  always  with  the  plainest  fare ; 
With  dogs  and  horses  finding  keenest  joy; 
With  them  he  would,  day  after  day,  employ 
Some  hours  in  sport,  seeking  the  smaller  game ; 
Returning  home, — pleasure  without  alloy, — 
Aloft  displayed  the  proof  of  his  sure  aim. 
His  youthful  heart  aglow,  his  ruddy  cheeks  aflame. 


IX. 


About  the  time  when  Karl  was  twelve  years  old, 
Upon  a  morn  his  mother  moan'd  and  cried, 
And  wrung  her  hands  in  grief, — for  she  was  told, 
Her  only  brother,  famed  Quitan,  had  died. 
Then,  on  his  death,  a  calvalcade  did  ride 
As  escort  for  his  child,  the  count's  sole  heir; 
For,  in  his  will  'twas  writ, — "I  do  confide 
My  daughter.  Bertha,  to  my  sister's  care. 
1  ask  for  christian  love ;  this  my  last  earthly  prayer." 

— 169  — 


X. 


Two  days  they  journeyed;  and,  when  came  night- fall, 
The  guards  with  Bertha  reached  the  castle-gate, 
And  asked  the  sentry,  marching  on  the  wall, 
If  they  might  enter,  though  the  hour  was  late; 
And  got  reply, — "Have  patience;  kindly  wait." 
Then  men-at-arms  obeyed  the  baron's  call ; 
The  bolts  were  drawn;  the  rusty  hinges  grate; 
Rudolphus  then  large  welcome  gave  to  all ; 
And  wine  and  food  were  served  in  the  long  banquet-hall. 


XL 


The  baroness  controlled  her  grief  and  tears; 
With  woman's  tenderness  the  child  caressed ; 
By  soothing  words  dispelled  her  natural  fears, 
And  many  kisses  on  her  forehead  pressed; 
With  eager  hands  prepared  a  couch  for  rest, 
In  the  large  corner-room  beside  her  own ; 
Where  ever-watchful  love  should  well  attest 
That  this  sad  orphan  was  not  left  alone, 
In  a  cold,  friendless  world,  too  full  of  perils  sown. 

— 170  — 


CANTO  II. 


I. 


Quitan  by  choice  had  led  a  soldier's  life ; 
His  mind  was  quick,  and  stalwart  was  his  frame ; 
And  when,  in  years  advanced,  he  sought  a  wife, 
Instead  of  youth  he  brought  both  wealth  and  fame. 
And  honored  his  young  wife  by  his  great  name. 
In  one  short  year  after  the  pair  were  wed, 
A  fickle  fortune  brought  his  plans  to  shame; 
An  infant  girl  was  born ;  his  wife  was  dead ; 
The  fondly  cherished  hope  of  a  male  heir  had  fled. 


II. 


Some  weeks  before  the  young  wife's  sudden  death, 
At  night  a  voice  spoke  in  her  drowsy  ear; 
She  woke  at  once,  but  scarcely  drew  her  breath, 
So  much  she  felt  an  overpowering  fear, 
For  she  believed  some  spirit  hovered  near. 
The  voice  had  said, — "Send  quickly  to  Brabant ! 
Write  thou  a  letter  urging  to  come  here 
The  widowed  Ursula,  thy  kind,  old  aunt! 
Be  sure  'tis  done  at  once ;  because  the  time  is  scant !" 

— 171  — 


III. 


And  this  was  done,  and  Ursula  with  pain, 
The  tedious  journey  made,  'neath  wintry  sky ; 
But,  the  event  made  all  her  cares  seem  vain; 
In  spite  of  youth  and  wealth  and  station  high, 
The  mother  of  an  hour  was  doomed  to  die. 
Yet,  Ursula,  an  angel  in  disguise, 
Led  sad  Quitan  to  see  with  hopeful  eye 
The  pretty  babe;  she  gave  him  counsel  wise, 
As  one  who,  taught  by  many  griefs,  on  God  relies. 


IV. 


And  when  'twas  time  she  should  to  Brabant  go, 
Quitan  would  not  permit  her  to  depart; 
Indeed,  she  did  but  weak  insistence  show ; 
The  thought  alone  produced  an  inward  smart; 
For  infant  Bertha  filled  her  mind  and  heart. 
And  when  Quitan,  yielding  to  strong  demands, 
Once  more  in  war  must  show  his  skill  and  art. 
He  gave  to  her  control  his  house,  his  lands. 
Quite  sure  all  would  go  well,  intrusted  to  her  hands. 

— 172  — 


V. 


The  years  ran  on ;  'twas  only  now  and  then, 
Quitan  could  be  at  home  for  a  few  days ; 
In  general,  he  was  absent  with  his  men ; 
He  braved  all  perils,  gained  the  army's  praise, 
And  wore  by  right  the  wished-for  victor's  bays. 
All  through  these  years,  the  lovely  little  one, 
With  flaxen  curls,  blue  eyes,  and  winning  ways, 
Still  more  the  heart  of  Ursula  had  won; 
For  her  the  aged  dame  no  sacrifice  would  shun. 


VI. 


From  Ursula  she  early  learned  to  knit; 
By  her  instruction  soon  was  taught  to  sew ; 
Upon  a  little  stool  by  her  would  sit. 
Much  moved  to  hear  the  tales  of  long  ago, 
When,  for  Truth's  sake,  the  martyrs'  blood  did  flow; 
Or,  clinging  fast  to  Ursula's  kind  hand. 
Would  mount  the  hill  and  to  the  chapel  go; 
Before  the  altar  humbly  kneel  or  stand. 
And  from  the  saints  and  virgin-queen  their  aid  demand. 

-173- 


VII. 


Nine  summers  now  had  little  Bertha  seen; 
A  thoughtful  child,  not  overfond  of  play, 
Modest  and  diffident,  of  downcast  mien. 
Her  mind  to  childish  reveries  a  prey. 
Because  she  lacked  companions  blythe  and  gay; 
No  other  children  helped  to  train  her  powers ; 
Seclusion  hindered  knowledge,  led  astray; 
So  Bertha  passed  too  many  dreamy  hours, 
Not  knowing  much  beyond  the  castle's  walls  and  towers. 

VIII. 

Then,  suddenly,  a  hasty  message  told. 
How  to  Quitan  a  misadventure  came; 
His  horse  had  fall'n,  and  over  him  had  rolled. 
His  breast  was  injured,  and  a  leg  was  lame; 
He  must  come  home,  and  kind  attention  claim. 
And  soon  he  came,  upon  a  litter  borne; 
A  monk  was  with  him,  doctor  of  some  fame, 
An  aged  man,  his  head  in  tonsure  shorn, 
Who  treated  bodily  ills,  and,  likewise,  souls  forlorn. 

- 17+  — 


IX. 


The  presence  of  the  monk  was  like  a  charm; 
To  cure  Quitan,  he  skillful  measures  took; 
He  quelled  at  once  old  Ursula's  alarm, 
And  calmed  young  Bertha  by  a  word  or  look. 
In  early  life,  physician,  he  forsook 
His  practice,  home,  and  hopes  of  ample  wealth; 
As  pilg-rim,  walked  to  Rome ;  no  ease  would  brook ; 
But,  fasted  oft ;  an  order  joined  by  stealth; 
And  strict  monastic  vows  assumed  for  his  soul's  health. 


X. 


Withdrawn  from  active  life,  compelled  to  lie 
Upon  his  bed,  and  suffer  grievous  pain, 
Wearied  by  thought,  to  count  the  hours  go  by, 
For  such  a  role  Quitan  had  but  disdain. 
And  longed  intensely  to  be  well  again. 
But  Ursula,  the  monk,  and  Bertha  tried, 
In  divers  ways,  to  soothe  his  restless  brain; 
By  turns,  they  sat  and  watched  at  his  bedside. 
And  with  assiduous  care  the  sick  man's  wants  supplied. 

-175- 


XI. 


The  broken  leg  was  healed  by  care  and  skill; 
Not  so,  however,  with  the  wounded  breast ; 
Deep-seated  hurts  kept  the  sad  patient  ill ; 
For  breath  he  labored,  had  but  fitful  rest ; 
And  yet  the  monk  a  cheerful  view  expressed. 
The  doctor's  instincts  taught  him  to  rely 
On  hope,  as  always  working  for  the  best; 
And  though,  perhaps,  he  knew  Quitan  would  die. 
This  latent  thought  he  kept  concealed  from  every  eye. 


XII. 


As  doctor  of  the  soul,  the  monk  essayed, 
In  converse  with  Quitan,  to  estimate 
At  their  real  worth  the  aims  by  which  are  swayed 
The  minds  of  men ;  how  small  what  they  call  great ! 
And  told  with  joy  of  his  own  peaceful  state. 
Quitan  was  moved,  and  gave  a  strong  assent; 
He  feared  these  truths  had  come  to  him  too  late ; 
Declared,  if  he  got  well,  'twas  his  intent 
To  lead  a  pious  life :  death  only  should  prevent. 

— 176  — 


XIII. 

The  monk  was  pleased,  his  heartfelt  work  was  crowned, 
By  God's  great  grace,  with  an  assured  success ; 
The  seed  divine  had  fitting  lodgement  found ; 
The  word  in  season  heaven  did  surely  bless, 
Rewarding  thus  believing  earnestness. 
And  Ursula  rejoiced  with  joy  so  deep, 
That  words  seemed  vain  her  feelings  to  express; 
And  Bertha,  as  she  watched  her  father  sleep. 
Elated  by  the  news,  for  joy  did  gently  weep. 


XIV. 


A  few  days  later,  always  good  and  kind. 
Old  Ursula  sat  talking  by  his  bed ; 
And  childhood's  scenes  all  glowing  in  her  mind, 
Began  to  tell  Quitan  how  she  was  led, 
A  merry  girl,  once  with     ...     no  more  she  said. 
But,  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  softly  sighed, 
And,  in  a  moment,  Ursula  was  dead. 
The  grief  was  great ;  in  vain  poor  Bertha  cried ; 
The  monk,  himself,  surprised,  brush'd  heartfelt  tears  aside. 

-177  — 


XV. 


To  weak  Quitan,  by  ling-ering-  illness  spent, 
This  sudden   death   proved   a  decided  blow; 
For  now,  he  felt  a  message  had  been  sent. 
To  wean  his  thoughts  from  all  things  here  below. 
Then  to  the  monk  he  said, — "Full  well  I  know, 
Thou  art  a  learned  man,  with  skill  to  write; 
Aid  me  by  written  document  to  show 
My  last  desires."     Then  did  the  monk  indite, 
On  a  large  parchment,  sealed,  what  Count  Quitan  judged  right. 


XVI. 

He  gave  the  church  for  masses  much  good  land; 
And  to  the  monk  some  precious  stones  and  gold 
For  his  own  cloister ;  then  he  gave  command 
For  final  gifts  to  friends,  both  young  and  old ; 
Then,  what  his  yeomen  should  receive  he  told ; 
His  body  and  his  wife's  one  tomb  should  share; 
Thereon  should  be  engraved, — Quitan,  the  Bold; 
He  gave  his  daughter  to  his  sister's  care ; 
And  closed  the  script  by  stating  Bertha  was  his  heir. 

-178- 


CANTO  III. 


When  Bertha  reached  the  castle  late  at  night, 
.  Karl,  healthy  boy,  was  fast  asleep  in  bed ; 
But,  the  next  day,  alert  with  early  light, 
His  horse,  his  dogs,  his  rabbit-pets  he  fed; 
Then,  with  some  flowers,  to  his  mother  sped ; 
She  smiled,  anticipating  his  surprise ; 
Then  quickly  brought  in  Bertha ;  and  she  said, — 
"Behold  thy  cousin !  we  have  gained  this  prize ! 
She  came  last  night,  when  sleep  was  heavy  on  thine  eyes." 


11. 


Then  from  the  nosegay  in  his  mother's  hand, 
Karl  took  a  rose,  and  gave  it  to  the  maid ; 
Then  kissed  her,  saying, — "Welcome  to  our  land ! 
And  welcome  to  our  house !  be  not  afraid !" 
Most  cheerfully  his  mother  he  obeyed. 
Took  Bertha's  hand,  and  led  her  to  the  board. 
Where  servants  had  on  broidered  napkins  laid. 
The  bread,  the  meat,  and  honey  lately  stored. 
But,  timid  Bertha  scarcely  ate;  this  all  deplored. 

—  179  — 


III. 


And  when  the  early,  frugal  meal  was  done, 
Rudolphus  chose  three  of  his  men,  well-armed, 
To  ride  with  him  until  the  set  of  sun, 
As  escort  for  the  guards  who  brought  unharmed. 
Through  a  wild  region,  oft  by  raids  alarmed. 
The  little  Bertha  safe  to  his  stronghold; 
The  strangers  were  by  his  politeness  charmed ; 
Then,  mounting  horse,  due  south,  these  warriors  bold. 
Rode  forth  to  reach  ere  night  Mayence  renown'd  of  old. 


IV. 


'Twas  well  for  Bertha  that  the  baroness, 
With  woman's  sympathizing,  tender  heart, 
Most  fully  entered  into  her  distress; 
Observed  the  faltering  words,  the  sudden  start ; 
And  other  signs  of  the  deep,  inward  smart. 
And  yet,  she  was  convinced,  it  would  be  best 
For  this  retiring  child,  could  she  impart. 
That  taste  for  out-door  life  which  Karl  possessed, 
Which  kept  him  ever  busy,  with  no  thought  of  rest. 

—  180  - 


V. 


With  this  in  view,  she  in  the  garden  watked, 
Or  sat  and  sewed,  with  Karl  and  Bertha  near ; 
And  oftentimes  right  genially  she  talked, 
And  told  them  stories  they  were  pleased  to  hear; 
But,  if  the  day  proved  to  be  warm  and  clear. 
With  Karl  as  guide,  together  they  would  stray 
In  forest  paths,  to  see  perchance  some  deer ; 
Or,  he  the  spot  would  show,  not  far  away. 
Where  his  brave  father  speared  the  savage  boar  at  bay. 


VI. 


So,  day  by  day,  the  pleasant  summer  through, 
In  the  fresh  air,  these  three  did  lightly  go ; 
Sometimes  it  was  a  distant  scene  to  view. 
Sometimes  to  watch  the  river's  varied  flow ; 
Or,  wearied,  climb  the  cliff  with  footsteps  slow; 
Karl  gathered  stones,  which  he  considered  rare; 
But  Bertha,  lingered  where  sweet  flowers  did  grow, 
And  plucked  all  those  which  seemed  to  her  most  fair, 
Or  those,  ambrosial-like,  whose  perfume  filled  the  air. 

-  i8i  — 


VII. 


The  out-door  life  worked  like  a  fairy's  spell; 
The  baroness  perceived  it  with  delight; 
For,  Bertha  showed  that  she  was  growing  well, 
By  ruddy  cheeks  and  vigorous  appetite ; 
Besides,  her  timid  mien  had  taken  flight. 
And  now,  in  household  work  she  took  her  share; 
Disdained,  in  any  wise,  a  task  to  slight ; 
She  kept  her  garments  all  in  good  repair ; 
And  showed,  in  loving  ways,  quick  sense  of  her  aunt's  care. 


VIII. 

The  advent  of  his  cousin  gave  new  zest 
To  all  Karl's  willing  labors,  or  his  play; 
He  shared  with  her  whatever  he  possessed; 
And  if,  perchance,  in  danger  she  did  stray, 
He  hastened  to  her  aid  without  delay. 
His  age,  full  three  years  greater,  he  took  pride 
In  making  of  his  strength  and  skill  display ; 
And  when  his  feat  to  peril  was  allied, 
K  Bertha  could  be  near,  was  the  more  gratified. 

-182- 


IX. 


And  Bertha  chose  Karl  for  her  bosom  friend; 
Her  childlike  tales  poured  in  his  ready  ear ; 
Made  fact  and  fancy  curiously  blend; 
Imagination  making  all  seem  clear ; 
And  yet,  was  truthful,  open,  and  sincere. 
He  found  her  winsome,  full  of  girlish  grace; 
She  thought  of  him  as  of  a  brother  dear; 
And  often  in  her  reveries  would  trace 
A  bright  career  for  him,  one  worthy  of  their  race. 


X. 


And  now,  Rudolphus,  at  his  wife's  desire, 
Although  he  held  all  letters  worth  but  scorn. 
Procured  the  service  of  a  learned  friar. 
To  bring  some  scripts  along  with  his  ink-horn. 
And  stay  the  winter  through  till  Easter-morn. 
The  genial  man  should  Karl  and  Bertha,  each. 
One  hour  a  day,  if  so  much  could  be  borne, 
To  read  and  write  and  cipher  fully  teach ; 
Still,  did  the  baroness  for  Bible-lore  beseech. 

-183- 


XL 


At  first,  the  godly  man  each  morn  essayed, 
In  teaching,  their  attention  to  secure; 
And,  for  the  Hvely  boy  and  thoughtful  maid, 
Spared  not  himself  to  make  their  progress  sure; 
An  hour,  indeed,  was  all  they  could  endure. 
While  Bertha  conned  her  tasks  with  extra  care, 
Karl  found  the  matter  grievously  obscure ; 
Then,  when  the  friar  the  hour-glass  turned,  the  pair 
Rushed  forth  with  frantic  joy  to  breathe  the  bracing  air. 


XII. 


The  friar  proved  to  be  a  skillful  man ; 
Albeit  his  learning  was  not  over-great. 
With  confidence  he  taught;  and  'twas  his  plan, 
As  if  for  diligence  to  compensate. 
Each  day  a  Bible-story  to  narrate; 
Of  the  first  things,  a  lively  picture  drew ; 
How  God  made  man,  free,  master  of  his  fate ; 
Described  the  fall ;  how  Cain  his  brother  slew ; 
The  ark,  the  flood, — and  thus,  the  sacred  story  through. 

—  184  — 


XIII. 


The  baroness  would  come,  and  sit,  and  sew, 
At  times  when  this  one  hour  she  could  have  free ; 
The  friar  for  her  a  marked  respect  did  show ; 
She  heard  the  lessons,  heard  the  history, 
While  still  her  needle  flashed  unceasingly. 
But,  not  unseldom  all  her  thought  was  pain; 
Her  mind  reverted  to  the  time  when  she, 
A  beautiful  young  girl,  alas,  in  vain, 
Sought  wisdom;  but,  in  ignorance  dwelt  'neath  error's  reign. 

XIV. 

On  Christmas  day  the  friar  fitly  told. 
How  Christ  was  born,  and  in  a  manger  laid ; 
In  swaddling  clothes  by  the  blessed  Virgin  rolled ; 
While  glorious  angels,  in  bright  robes  arrayed, 
High  in  the  starry  sky  sweet  music  made. 
Then  later,  in  the  green-decked  banquet  hall, 
Rudolphus  and  his  men  the  yule-log  laid ; 
The  fruitful  Christmas-tree  bore  gifts  for  all, 
While  cakes  and  wine  and  venison  fed  lord  and  thrall. 

-185- 


XV. 


By  holy  week,  the  youths  could  read  and  write ; 
With  figures  they  could  fairly  calculate; 
What  Karl  had  first  found  heavy,  now  was  light ; 
Their  progress  had  been  at  a  rapid  rate; 
In  hist'ry  too,  their  interest  had  been  great; 
Good  seed  the  friar  felt  had  been  well  sown. 
With  grateful  gifts  he  left  the  castle  gate; 
He  aimed  to  spend  his  Easter  in  Cologne, 
And  wait  there  till  the  bones  of  the  three  kings  were  shown. 


CANTO    IV. 


I. 


Now  soon,  the  Rhine,  no  longer  swollen  high, 
Flowed  as  a  stream  of  secondary  size, 
And  many  places  in  its  bed  were  dry ; 
Rudolphus  and  his  men  with  greedy  eyes, 
Now  watched  for  what  might  prove  to  be  a  prize ; 
They  fixed  obstructions  in  the  stream  by  night; 
Behold!  'twas  done!  before  the  next  sunrise, 
A  vessel  was  aground, — a  hapless  sight, — 
But,  to  the  ruthless  band,  a  cause  of  keen  delight. 


II. 


When  thus  aground,  the  vessel's  master  knew, 
He  must  as  ransom  half  his  cargo  pay. 
Or,  boldly  arm  himself  and  his  small  crew. 
And  fight  it  out,  as  if  with  beasts  of  prey; 
The  safer  mode  he  chose  without  delay; 
And  half  his  goods  relinquished,  if  not  more. 
Rudolphus  then,  his  men,  in  lordly  way, 
Bestirred  to  shove  the  vessel  off  the  shore ; 
And  thus,  she  onward  sailed,  but  lighter  than  before. 

-187- 


III. 


As  time  ran  on,  the  children  learned  to  sing, 
In  unison,  with  no  pretense  of  art ; 
But,  in  their  plaintive  songs  would  often  bring 
Sweet  cadences  to  touch  the  feeling  heart, 
When,  from  the  list'ners'  eyes  soft  tears  would  start. 
Sometimes  they  sat  in  the  high,  square-built  tower, 
Which,  of  the  castle  formed  a  salient  part, 
And  there,  like  nightingales  in  leafy  bower, 
Would  sing,  with  voices  loud,  throughout  the  evening  hour. 


IV. 


One  day,  the  baroness  drew  forth  a  book, 
Which  long  had  lain  in  an  old,  walnut  chest ; 
Its  leaves  of  vellum  had  an  ancient  look, 
And  it  was  bound  in  parchment  roughly  dressed ; 
It  closed  with  silver  clasps,  which  bore  a  crest. 
"Books  are  a  prey  to  fortune  as  are  men;" 
Some  perish  soon,  some  change  to  palimpsest ; 
So,  this  rare  book,  fond  task  of  skillful  pen. 
Came  forth  to  vanish  as  a  dream  from  human  ken. 


V. 


It  was,  in  truth,  an  early,  classic  work. 
In  Latin  written,  ages  long  before; 
In  a   crusade   was   wrested    from  the   Turk, 
And  as  a  prize  reached  the  Venetian  shore; 
Then  passed  to  one  who  loved  all  ancient  lore ; 
His  crest  adorned  it,  when  'twas  newly  bound ; 
And,  when  he  died,  all  that  he  held  in  store, 
Went  to  an  heir  who  dwelt  on  German  ground; 
Then  long  it  slumbered  in  the  chest  where  it  was  found. 


VL 


The  book  was  given  to  Karl ;  he  looked  it  through ; 
The  purpose  he  then  formed  to  him  seemed  sage ; 
All  this  old  book's  contents  should  be  made  new ; 
He  slowly  washed  the  writing  from  each  page ; 
Thus  showed  but  small  respect  for  hoary  age ; 
As  final  aid,  soft  pumice-stone  did  bring; 
Then  a  new  labor  must  his  skill  engage; 
On  the  smooth  leaves, — his  pen  from  a  goose-wing,- 
He  wrote  the  songs  and  ballads  he  had  learned  to  sing. 


VII. 


The  castle  of  Rudolphus,  grim  and  strong, 
Was,  to  his  people,  a  just  source  of  pride; 
In  a  degree  it  did  to  them  belong, 
In  stress  and  storm  to  it  at  once  all  hied ; 
Protected  by  it  lived,  or  bravely  died. 
But,  further  from  the  river,  on  high  ground, 
Unlike  the  castle,  yet  to  it  allied. 
The  great  church  stood,  a  sign  of  truth  profound, 
Which  raised  the  thoughts  above  all  this  life's  pyetty  round. 

VIII. 

This  edifice  was  built  in  romaine  style ; 
From  Mayence  skilled  assistance  had  been  lent, 
To  plan  and  help  to  rear  the  lofty  pile ; 
While  all  the  people  piously  intent, 
Like  ants,  for  generations  came  and  went. 
Till,  by  their  work,  the  finished  house  arose. 
Then  from  a  tower  the  bell  its  message  sent, 
Of  festive  joy,  or,  marked  life's  solemn  close, 
Or,  summoned  all  to  heaven's  own  balm  for  human  woes. 

— 190  — 


IX. 


Within  the  church  or  out,  for  rich  or  poor, 
The  priests  and  helpers  had  enough  to  do; 
The  malady  of  sin  demanded  cure ; 
The  misery  was  great,  the  lab'rers  few. 
And  even  love  and  zeal  despondent  grew. 
But  still,  the  baroness,  in  her  kind  way, 
And  Bertha  at  her  side,  assistant  true. 
Were  out  among  the  people  every  day. 
To  tend  the  helpless  sick,  or  with  the  dying  pray. 


X. 


And  in  the  church  the  tombs  of  kith  and  kin, 
Were  strewn  with  flowers,  by  their  pious  care; 
And  for  the  souls  of  those  who  slept  therein, 
Were  masses  said,  to  rescue  from  despair. 
And  sooner  gain  of  heavenly  love  a  share. 
And  when  the  long  processions  slowly  wound, 
Within  the  church  or  in  the  open  air, 
The  ancient  hymns  they  sang,  while  passing  round, 
And  'midst  the  humblest  worshippers  were  always  found. 


XI. 


And  for  the  church  oft  they  were  occupied, 
In  their  own  rooms,  and  stitched  rare  broideries, 
And  by  their  art  with  patient  nuns  they  vied, 
The  work  adorning  with  gold  traceries. 
Inserted  deftly,  practis'd  eyes  to  please. 
Likewise,   fine  linen  altar-cloths  they  made, 
And  priestly  vestments,  slowly,  by  degrees; 
And  then,  at  length,  they  felt  themselves  repaid. 
When  the  beloved  priests  were  fittingly  arrayed. 


XII. 


Some  busy  years  sped  by,  for  weal  or  woe; 
A  manly  youth,  Karl  now  was  large  and  strong. 
For  he  could  bend  his  father's  prized  yew  bow, 
And  bore  the  heavy,   ashen  spear  along, 
As  he  rode  foremost  of  the  hunting  throng. 
A  rider  bold,  he  showed  both  grace  and  skill, 
But,  seldom  used  the  spur's  sharp,  ruthless  prong ; 
For  by  his  tones,  his  horse  divined  his  will, 
And  dashed  on  like  the  wind,  or  patiently  stood  still. 


XIII. 

One  day,  when  hunting  in  a  distant  wood, 
The  pack  of  dogs  disclosed  a  she-wolf's  lair; 
And  as  the  hunters  near  the  wolf-den  stood, 
The  furious  beast,  impelled  by  wild  despair, 
With  sudden  bound,  before  he  was  aware, 
Dash'd  at  Karl's  throat,  and  pulled  him  from  his  horse ; 
The  throat  she  missed,  but  seized  his  waving  hair ; 
Then  to  his  knife  he  quickly  had  recourse. 
Struck  the  beast's  heart  with  skill,  and  slung  her  off  by  force. 


XIV. 


That  night,  Rudolphus,  at  the  supper,  proud 
To  see  his  son  beside  him  all  unharmed. 
Recounted  to  the  baroness  aloud. 
The  story  of  the  wolf: — How  he  was  charmed 
To  see  the  fight ;  how  Karl  was  unalarmed, 
And  drew  his  knife,  and  forced  it  to  her  heart. 
Oh !  that  showed  skill !  'twas  well  that  he  was  armed ! 
That  she-wolf's  skin,  well-dressed,  a  thing  apart. 
Should  serve  as  a  memento  of  the  hunter's  art. 

— 193  — 


XV. 


Within  the  castle,  as  the  only  child, 
Karl  gave  his  father  reverence,  and  obeyed; 
And,  for  his  charming  mother,  always  mild. 
Whose  image  never  from  his  heart  could  fade, 
A  noble,  filial  piety  displayed. 
For  Bertha  he  still  showed  a  lov^e  sincere ; 
But,  who  could  say  just  how  he  loved  the  maid? 
Was  she  to  him,  simply  as  cousin,  dear? 
Or,  in  his  thoughts  did  she  in  lovelier  guise  appear? 

XVI. 

As  women  in  that  age  of  chivalry, 
Were  excellent  in  labors  of  real  worth, 
So  Bertha  never  shunned  activity. 
In  tasks  deemed  fit  for  ladies  of  high  birth, 
Aware  that  toil  must  be  her  lot  on  earth ; 
She  spun  and  wove  the  flax  and  wool ;  she  sewed ; 
Her  bag  of  work  hung  ready  from  her  girth ; 
All  her  own  robes  to  her  own  skill  she  owed; 
And  to  the  humbler  maids  a  good  example  showed. 


XVII. 

As  Bertha  was  the  heiress  of  Quitan, 
And  must  adorn  by  conduct  a  great  name, 
Her  aunt's  instructions  follow'd  a  wise  plan, 
She  praised  her  when  she  met  stern  duty's  claim, 
And  proved  nobility  by  lofty  aim. 
Thus   Bertha  wore  distinction's   subtle  air; 
'Twas  felt  by  all  who  in  her  presence  came. 
That  this  tall,  slender  maid,  this  countess,  fair, 
Belonged  to  a  free  race,  one  fit  to  do  or  dare. 

XVIII. 

When  closed  the  constant  labors  of  the  day, 
Fair  Bertha,  in  her  corner-room,  at  night, 
Would  sit  awhile,  before  she  knelt  to  pray. 
Her  thoughts  and  feelings  wayward  in  their  flight, 
Now  somewhat  sombre,  now  again  more  bright. 
Her  love  for  Karl  had  strengthen' d  with  the  years. 
Its  growing  power  she  could  no  longer  slight. 
But,  in  her  breast,  along  with  hopes  and  fears. 
Her  secret  was  alike  the  fount  of  joy  and  tears. 

-I9S- 


CANTO  V. 


I. 


About  this  time,  Karl  an  excursion  made; 
Rudolphus,  for  his  rights  did  not  disdain, 
Along  with  Karl  to  join  a  cavalcade 
Of  counts  and  barons,  who  had  much  to  gain, 
By  show  of  force  at  Frankfort-on-the-Main. 
The  barons,  like  their  castles,  stood  apart; 
But  in  great  need,  their  power  to  retain. 
They  had  made  common-cause,  with  hand  and  heart. 
And  even  braved  the  church,  and  all  its  priestly  art, 


11. 


At  Frankfort,  three  Prince-Bishops  were  on  hand ; 
With  them,  the  counts  and  barons  held  debate, 
About  the  interests  of  the  German  land, 
And  churchly  rights,  and  powers  of  the  state. 
And  what  might  be  the  Holy  Empire's  fate. 
And  so,  they  met  and  wrangled,  loud  and  long; 
The  laymen  fierce,  the  clergy  oft  irate. 
All  ended  well ;  and  soon  the  seething  throng 
Dispersed  ;  and  right  remained  as  always,  with  the  strong. 

-iq6- 


III. 


While  in  the  town,  Karl  bought  himself  a  flute, 
Of  ebon-wood,  four- jointed,  silver-bound ; 
And  for  dear  Bertha,  got  a  round-backed  lute, 
Which,  when  well  played,  seemed  like  a  harp  to  sound ; 
Rudolphus,  for  his  wife,  a  head-dress  found, 
Designed  to  hold  in  place  luxuriant  hair, 
The  costly  edge  adorned  with  pearls  around, 
'Twould  give  the  lady  an  imposing  air, 
Whenever  she  might  choose  this  ornament  to  wear. 


IV. 


To  the  great  meeting,  from  old  Trier,  there  came, 
To  aid  the  nobles,  with  alacrity. 
An  eager  count,  Albertus  was  his  name ; 
He  showed  Rudolphus  a  marked  courtesy; 
And  when  the  baron  spoke,  he  hastened  to  agree ; 
And  thus'  'twas  natural,  that  the  count's  demand. 
When  it  was  made,  at  last,  all  privily, 
Rudolphus  felt  unequal  to  withstand; 
So  then,  Albertus  asked  for  the  fair  Bertha's  hand. 

— 197  — 


Rudolphus  said, — "Return  with  me,  and  stay 
A  welcome  guest  within  my  castle  gate; 
When  we  are  there,  without  the  least  delay, 
I  will  unto  my  wife  thy  wishes  state; 
To  her  skilled  hands  thou  canst  commit  thy  fate. 
A  banquet  shall  be  given  to  honor  thee, 
So  shalt  thou  meet  thy  lovely,  future  mate ; 
She  also,  there,  will  Count  Albertus  see; 
And  may  God  grant  to  both  a  happy  destiny !" 


VI. 


Albertus,  anxious  to  pursue  the  quest, 
Agreed  to  ride  with  them  the  morrow-morn; 
Karl  merely  knew  the  count  would  be  their  guest ; 
Had  he  known  all,  what  would  have  been  his  scorn  ? 
For,  though  the  count  was  certainly  well-born, 
His  homeliness  was  clear  to  every  eye. 
And  even  costly  dress  failed  to  adorn. 
Poor  man !  his  wealth  was  great,  his  influence  high, 
But  these  rare  gifts  could  not  his  lack  of  grace  belie. 


VII. 


The  homeward  journey  lasted  one  whole  day; 
And  when  they  reached  the  castle,  it  was  night ; 
But  the  full  moon  shone  brightly  on  their  way, 
And  bathed  the  sombre  pile  in  mellow  light ; 
Which  to  Albertus  was  a  pleasing  sight. 
Within  the  castle,  he  was  honored  friend ; 
The  baroness  and  Bertha  were  polite; 
Bright  eyes,  food,  wine  and  song,  their  pleasures  blend, 
And  midnight's  hour  was  passed  before  the  joyous  end. 


VIII. 

Next  day,  betimes,  were  preparations  made, 
For  the  grand  dinner  in  the  banquet  hall ; 
Each  must  appear,  in  festal  garb  arrayed. 
And  heed  the  orders  of  the  seneschal ; 
Albertus  must  be  honored  by  them  all. 
While  Bertha  dressed,  her  aunt  came  in,  and  said,- 
"In  future  years,  we  shall  this  day  recall ; 
Our  friend,  the  count,  proposes  thee  to  wed ; 
He  rules  a  large  domain,  is  rich,  and  nobly  bred." 

- 199  — 


IX. 


Astonished  Bertha  staggered  and  sat  down, 
Grew  deadly  pale,  then  wept  with  many  tears; 
The  kind  aunt's  brow^  took  on  an  anxious  frown ; 
And  yet,   she  sympathized  with  Bertha's  fears, 
And  dreaded  what  might  be  in  future  years. 
But,  the  wise  lady  said,  "  'Tis  for  the  best ; 
A  maiden  should  obey  those  she  reveres, 
Who  think,  and  dream,  and  plan,  and  take  no  rest, 
And  strive  to  make  the  lives  of  their  dear  children  blest. 


X. 


Dear  Bertha,  dry  thine  eyes ;  be  cool  and  ware ; 
And  sharply  scan  Albertus;  then  decide; 
And  if,  in  spite  of  all  our  pains  and  care, 
Thou  art  unwilling  to  become  his  bride, 
Rudolphus  will  be  wrathful,  and  will  chide; 
But  I,  thy  aunt,  will  force  thee  no  whit  more; 
'Twill  be  God's  will ;  He  must  not  be  defied ; 
But,  all  our  hearts  will  be,  alas,  most  sore." 
With  this,  she  kissed  her  niece,  passed  out,  and  closed  the  door. 


XL 


At  noon,  the  trumpet's  sound  did  all  address; 
Rudolphus  then  brought  in  the  good,  old  priest; 
Albertus  followed,  with  the  baroness; 
Then  handsome  Karl  led  Bertha  to  the  feast ; 
Then  other  guests  the  company  increased; 
Then  men-at-arms,  and  vassals  high  and  low; 
Joy  reigned  supreme,  for  this  glad  day  at  least. 
Then  choicest  wines  did  without  measure  flow, 
And  busy  servants  with  baked  meats  rushed  to  and  fro. 


XII. 


The  chief,  Rudolphus,  held  his  place  with  ease; 
A  festive  tone  prevailed,  with  the  good  cheer ; 
The  baroness,  Albertus  strove  to  please; 
The  good,  old  priest  most  genial  did  appear; 
And  Karl  was  glad  to  have  fair  Bertha  near ; 
But,  she  was  silent,  sat  with  downcast  eyes; 
Karl  felt  the  change, — its  cause  did  not  seem  clear ; 
Yet,  others  present,  keener,  could  surmise, 
And  said, — "The  homely  count  seeks  Bertha ;  wants  the  prize !" 


XIII. 

The  banquet  ended.     Now  the  count  must  know, 
Shall  he  receive  or  not  fair  Bertha's  hand? 
Or,  hastening  forth,  to  his  own  country  go. 
His  hopes  as  water  poured  out  on  the  sand. 
Meanwhile,  in  Bertha's  room,  the  aunt  did  stand ; 
And  got  this  declaration  from  the  maid, — 
"I  cannot  yield  to  the  young  count's  demand ; 
I'll  grieve,  if  those  I  love  join  to  upbraid; 
I  will  become  a  nun,  and  pray  to  heaven  for  aid." 


XIV. 

Rudolphus,  now,  at  last,  was  forced  to  tell 
The  count  Albertus  just  the  simple  truth; 
"The  baroness  and  he  had  wished  him  well; 
But  who  could  guess  the  foolishness  of  youth? 
A  woman's  whim  had  baffled  them,  forsooth !" 
So  then,  the  count  departed,  dignified; 
He  was  too  highly  bred  to  be  uncouth ; 
He  pressed  Rudolphus'  hand,  and  deeply  sighed; 
And  sadly  fared  him  forth  without  the  wished-for  bride. 


CANTO  VI, 


His  father's  mien,  his  mother's  sober  face, 
And  Bertha's  silence,  now  led  Karl  to  see 
That  some  calamity  had  taken  place; 
But  he,  by  nature,  was  direct  and  free. 
And  thus  he  failed  to  guess  what  it  might  be. 
Nor,  did  he  choose  to  bear  incertitude; 
But,  when  his  mother  was  at  liberty. 
He,  in  her  room,  remarked  on  her  sad  mood, 
And  said, — "What  evil  thing  compels  thee  thus  to  brood  ?" 


n. 


Her  son's  kind  interest  touched  the  mother's  heart, 
So  that  she  felt  most  ready  to  explain ; 
To  Karl  she  said, — "Dear  son,  I  will  impart 
The  cause  of  our  anxiety  and  pain; 
It  threatens  still  to  make  our  best  hopes  vain. 
In  secret,  the  young  count  made  a  demand. 
While  ye  sojourned  at  Frankfort-on-the-Main ; 
He  asked  your  father  for  dear  Bertha's  hand; 
Rudolphus  gave  him  hope ;  then  brought  him  to  our  land. 

—  203  — 


III. 


Already,  the  first  evening,  to  my  eyes 
'Twas  plain  bright  hope  made  the  young  count  elate ; 
Thy  father's  story  caused  me  no  surprise, 
For  what  he  told,  I  did  anticipate. 
And  I  was  pleased ;  my  happiness  was  great ; 
I  pictured  Bertha  honored,  loved,  adored. 
But  she  became  as  one  most  desolate, 
When  I,  next  day,  her  kind  assent  implored. 
She  let  me  see,  with  tears,  this  union  she  abhorred. 


IV. 


Nor,  is  this  all ;  but  I  must  also  say, 
Thy  father,  very  wrathful,  raves  and  swears 
She  shall  no  longer  in  his  castle  stay. 
He  did  his  best  to  aid  her,  he  declares; 
And  he  seems  not  to  heed  my  earnest  prayers. 
Moreover,  Bertha  tells  me  she  will  seek 
A  peaceful  refuge  from  this  world's  vain  cares. 
And,  as  a  simple  nun,  devout  and  meek, 
Pray  those  cast  down  may  rise,  God's  strength  may  aid  the  weak." 


V. 


His  mother  ceased ;  e'en  while  she  spoke,  arose 
A  storm  of  feeling  in  Karl's  tortured  breast; 
He  sat.  a  youth,  and  heard  her  tale  of  woes; 
Sprang  up,  a  man,  determined,  self-possessed. 
Then,  as  his  tearful  mother  he  caressed, 
He  said, — "For  God's  sake,  bring  my  cousin  here ; 
What  has  been  long  unsaid,  shall  be  expressed ; 
For  Bertha  to  leave  home  were  fate  most  drear; 
I  must  to  her.  at  once,  make  my  position  clear." 


VI. 


They  came.     Karl  said, — "Cousin,  the  count  was  bold ; 
At  Frankfort,  he  took  pains  not  to  ofifend ; 
And,  when  he  came  as  guest  to  our  stronghold, 
I  thought  he  came  as  my  dear  father's  friend ; 
But  now,  I  learn  what  was  his  wily  end. 
As  I  look  back,  what  blindness  has  been  mine! 
I've  loved  thee  long,  yet,  did  not  comprehend 
The  voice  within,  which  was  a  voice  divine. 
I  love  thee  deeply.  Bertha!  all  my  heart  is  thine!" 

—  205  — 


VII. 


As  when  a  landscape,  sombre  in  the  shade, 
Is  suddenly  lit  up  by  radiance  bright, 
These  words  of  Karl  transfigured  the  sad  maid ; 
The  baroness  could  scarce  believe  her  sight, 
As  Bertha's  eyes  beamed  with  supreme  delight. 
"Give  me  thy  kiss,  dear  aunt!"  she  quickly  said; 
Then,  like  a  bird,  spontaneous  in  its  flight, 
She  flew  to  Karl,  her  eager  arms  outspread, 
And  fondly  on  his  breast  she  leaned  her  lovely  head. 

VIII. 

The  baroness  then  spoke  in  kindly  tone ; 
"Excess  of  joy  now  makes  my  dear  ones  blind ; 
'Tis  well  this  love  to  none  but  me  is  known ; 
To  keep  it  secret  we  must  be  resigned, 
Until  Rudolphus  shows  a  change  of  mind; 
And  then,  awhile,  secret  it  still  must  be; 
I  fear  the  church  may  great  objection  find ; 
To  marry  cousins,  princes  are  not  free; 
The  Pope,  alone,  at  Rome,  may  grant  that  liberty." 

—  206  — 


IX. 


Then,  moved  by  Bertha's  anxious,  mute  appeal, 
Karl  pressed  her  to  his  heart  with  his  strong  hand, 
And  to  his  mother  said, — "In  truth,  we  feel 
Our  safety  lies  in  heeding  thy  command; 
Nor  father  nor  the  priest  would  we  withstand. 
Thy  valued  aid,  dear  mother,  thou  must  lend. 
Lest  our  sweet  bond,  by  home,  by  church  be  banned ; 
Thou  art  our  best,  our  confidential  friend ; 
And  we  are  sure,  with  thee,  to  conquer  in  the  end !" 


X. 


What  woman,  thus  besought,  could  aid  refuse 
To  youthful  hearts  so  willing  to  confide  ? 
The  thoughtful  baroness  was  forced  to  choose 
To  help  her  son,with  Bertha  at  his  side; 
Their  earnest  plea  was  not  to  be  denied. 
She  promised  them  to  use  her  utmost  skill. 
To  lead  Rudolphus  rightly  to  decide; 
If  he  would  aid  them  with  his  vigorous  will. 
Perhaps,  the  gracious  church  their  hearts  with  joy  would  fill. 

—  207  — 


XI. 


When  closed  this  changeful  day,  and  night  drew  nigh, 
The  baroness  sat  thoughtful  in  her  room; 
Her  hopeful  view  she  longed  to  justify, 
And  in  her  husband's  face,  instead  of  gloom, 
See  wonted  cheerfulness  its  sway  resume. 
Just  then,  he  entered;  moodily  sat  down; 
And  seemed,  alas,  disposed  to  fret  and  fume; 
But  the  good  mother  boldly  faced  his  frown, 
And  hoped  that  some  success  her  skill  and  tact  would  crown. 


XII. 

"Rudolphus,"  she  began,  "Thou  knowest  well, 
Quitan,  when  dying,  gave  the  church  a  share 
Of  his  large  wealth ;  he  feared  the  pains  of  hell ; 
To  save  his  soul  he  wished  continual  prayer ; 
He  showed  his  faith,  nor  yielded  to  despair. 
Yet,  though  I  love  the  church,  I  would  not  see, 
If  we  can  hinder,  by  judicious  care. 
His  whole  estate  go  from  our  family, 
And,  by  his  daughter's  foolish  freak  sequestered  be. 

—  208- 


XIII. 

Besides,  I've  learned,  and  now  I  understand, 
Her  thoughts  of  convent-Hfe  did  not  arise, 
Merely  because  the  count  desired  her  hand; 
The  damsel  for  another  spent  her  sighs." 
At  this  Rudolphus  showed  extreme  surprise. 
The  baroness  continued, — "Yea,  her  mind 
Is  firmly  set  on  Karl.     Let  us  be  wise. 
Must  Bertha  and  her  wealth  be  now  resigned, 
Because  her  heart  to  our  own  son  has  been  inclined?" 


XIV. 

Through  all  these  years,  while  the  fair  Bertha  grew, 
From  girlish  grace  to  lovely  womanhood, 
On  looking  back,  full  well  Rudolphus  knew, 
Not  once  had  she  his  least  command  withstood, 
Except  this  last,  sharp  change  of  attitude. 
But  now,  his  wife  had  made  that  riddle  plain ; 
He  saw  'twas  love  for  Karl  made  her  seem  rude; 
And  as  her  ardent  love  meant  them  great  gain. 
No  vestige  of  his  wrath  was  suffered  to  remain. 

-  2og  — 


XV. 


Then  blandly  to  the  baroness  he  said, — 
"My  dearest  wife,  how  wise  of  you  to  trace 
The  source  of  woe  up  to  its  fountain-head ; 
Our  Bertha  I'll  not  blame  for  what  took  place ; 
I  was  too  sure  the  count  would  meet  with  grace; 
Whereas,  before  1  brought  him  on  his  quest, 
We  should  have  talked  with  Bertha,  face  to  face, 
And  learned  what  passion  hid  in  her  soft  breast; 
And  not  have  forced  her  heart  to  the  unwelcome  test.' 


XVI. 

As  years  had  passed,  Rudolphus  had  not  dreamed. 
Or  church  or  state  should  gain  at  Bertha's  cost ; 
He  ordered  her  afifairs  as  best  beseemed 
To  guard  her  property  from  being  lost; 
No  thought  of  self  his  lordly  mind  had  crossed. 
But,  now  a  pleasing,  gainful  vision  rose; 
'Twixt  hopes  and  fears  his  eager  heart  was  tossed; 
He  asked, — "Will  Karl  a  willingness  disclose? 
Or,  will  the  holy  church  non  possumus  oppose?" 


XVII. 

The  baroness  replied. — "Thy  power  is  great; 
I  have  few  fears,  I  leave  the  priests  to  thee ; 
I  think  thou  canst  the  church  propitiate. 
To  Mayence  go,  and  the  Prince-Bishop  see; 
He  is  thy  uncle ;  he  should  hear  our  plea. 
Karl  loves  his  cousin  now ;  full  well  I  know, 
Thy  favor  given, — a  fitting  word  from  me, — 
He  would  his  love  for  Bertha  plainly  show, 
And  these  two  hearts  to  one  would  magically  grow." 

XVIII. 

Rudolphus  pleased,  at  once  made  haste  to  say, — 
"Thou  speakest  well !     Thy  counsel  I  will  take ; 
I'll  speak  to  Karl  before  I  ride  away; 
Of  course,  I'm  willing  for  my  own  son's  sake. 
To  see  the  Prince,  and  a  full  statement  make. 
But,  there  must  be  no  hint  of  convent  more ; 
The  cloister's  interests  might  appear  at  stake ; 
'Gainst  such  an  adverse  force,  we  need  no  lore, 
To  comprehend  all  chance  of  favor  would  be  o'er." 


XIX. 

Next  day,  betimes,  after  the  morning  meal, 
Rudolphus  gravely  beckoned  Karl  aside. 
And  led  his  son,  by  quesitons,  to  reveal 
The  hope  that  Bertha  might  become  his  bride, 
Although  he  was  in  blood  so  near  allied. 
Rudolphus  said, — "My  son,  be  of  good  cheer ! 
I  shall  this  day,  in  force,  to  Mayence  ride ; 
The  old  Prince-Bishop  shall  the  story  hear ; 
A  Dispensation,  without  doubt,  will  cost  us  dear." 


XX. 


Fair  Bertha,  Karl,  and  the  kind  baroness. 
For  three  days  watched ;  the  baron  then  appeared ; 
He  gave  them  joy  by  telling  of  success; 
But  said,  it  turned  out  just  as  he  had  feared. 
At  first,  the  Bishop  merely  laughed  and  jeered ; 
Against  the  law,  this  marriage  could  not  be ; 
Then  named  a  price, — this  priest  with  conscience  seared  ;- 
A  treaty  must  be  signed  the  Rhine  to  free ; 
This  done,  from  Rome,  a  Dispensation  they  should  see. 


XXI. 

Rudolphus  paused, — then  went  on  to  relate, 
How  that  the  bishop  said, — "The  price  is  small ; 
Thy  so-called  right  is  one  against  the  State. 
The  Empire  and  the  cities,  one  and  all, 
The  Rhine-stream  have  resolved  to  disenthrall. 
Show  prudence,  nephew,  shun  a  crushing  blow. 
But,  as  the  papal  costs  on  thee  will  fall. 
To  make  amends,  and  my  warm  interest  show, 
The  wedding  I'll  attend,  my  blessing  to  bestow." 

XXII. 

Then,  speaking  for  himself,  Rudolphus  said, — 
"The  Bishop's  talk  of  force  caused  me  no  fright ; 
In  our  stronghold  we  feel  but  little  dread ; 
But,  I  gave  up  what  seemed  to  me  my  right, 
Because  a  greater  gift  had  charmed  my  sight." 
Impulsive  Bertha  to  the  baron  ran ; 
Mere  words  could  not  express  her  great  delight ; 
Her  soft  caresses  pleased  the  rugged  man. 
And  made  him  prize  still  more  the  daughter  of  Quitan. 

—  213  — 


CANTO  VII. 


When,  twenty  years  before,  with  natural  pride, 
Dear  Bertha's  mother  married  her  famed  lord, 
As  partial  dower  of  the  youthful  bride, 
She  brought  along  a  maiden's  ample  hoard 
Of  linen,  coarse  and  fine,  to  grace  their  board ; 
And  many  clothes  she  had  for  future  wear; 
All  this  provision  now  should  be  unstored, 
And  giv'n  to  Bertha,  as  her  mother's  heir; 
A  touching  evidence  of  long  past  work  and  care. 


II. 


And  now,  fair  Bertha  and  the  baroness. 
Were  busy  in  the  long,  bright,  summer  days ; 
And  made  with  care  the  simple  wedding-dress ; 
They  also  planned  and  made,  in  thrifty  ways. 
Fine,  marvelous  robes  to  fix  and  charm  the  gaze 
Of  those  who  should  attend  the  marriage- fete ; 
Then,  Bertha's  loveliness  must  win  due  praise. 
A  beauty,  richly  dressed,  heiress  of  large  estate. 
Would  be  the  cynosure  within  the  castle's  gate. 

—  214  — 


III. 


Rudolphus  and  his  wife  were  soon  distressed, 
By  signs  their  secret  was  becoming  known; 
As  joy  was  great  and  could  not  be  suppressed, 
A  glance,  a  word,  a  gesture,  or  a  tone. 
Proclaimed  the  truth,  and  thus  the  heart  was  shown. 
'Twas  then  announced, — they  were  indeed  elate; 
And  for  their  joy  this  was  the  cause  alone. 
The  coming  birthday  they  would  celebrate, 
When  Karl,  at  length,  by  law,  should  reach  to  man's  estate. 


IV. 


The  celebration  of  Karl's  natal  day. 
Was  by  Rudolphus  at  the  first  designed 
To  let  exuberant  feelings  have  free  play, 
And  take  a  certain  pressure  off  his  mind. 
But.  as  the  date  drew  near,  he  was  inclined 
To  make  elaborate  the  pomp  and  show. 
The  people's  sports,  indeed,  were  not  refined ; 
But,  he  was  like  them,  and  could  not  forego. 
Whate'er  might  make  the  vassals'  pleasure  overflow. 

-  215- 


V. 


From  early  days  the  baron  could  recall, — 
How  his  old  sire,  at  three  score  years  and  ten, 
Was  honored  by  a  brilliant  festival, 
A  day  of  sports  and  games,  when  armor'd  men, 
In  mimic  warfare  charged,  and  charged  again. 
Full  forty  years  had  past,  and  yet  the  sight 
Was  vivid  now,  as  it  was  lively  then ; 
It  formed  an  epoch,  that  day  of  delight ; 
'Twould  live  again,  and  make  Karl's  birthday  bright. 


VI. 


Betimes,  Rudolphus  did  to  all  proclaim, 
September  sixth  should  be  a  day  of  grace ; 
At  least,  for  that  glad  day,  'twould  be  his  aim, 
To  cause  bright  joy  to  beam  in  every  face. 
His  Karl  would  come  of  age,  and  take  his  place, 
As  heir  presumptive  to  the  old  domain, 
Prepared  for  the  high  duties  of  his  race. 
To  bless  this  day  their  well-loved  priests  would  deign ; 
And  their  brave,  hardy  folk  a  new  memorial  gain. 

—  216  — 


VII. 


Beyond  the  church,  which  as  a  landmark  stood, 
And  through  the  forest,  a  wide  pathway  wound, 
Till,  on  the  further  edge  of  the  dark  wood, 
By  a  rough  paling  bordered  all  around, 
Stretched,  east  and  west,  the  common,  sporting-ground ; 
So  used  in  heathen  times,  tradition  said. 
Here,  on  the  festal  days,  large  groups  were  found 
Engaged  in  various  games ;  here  runners  sped ; 
Here  jousts  were  held,  and  the  spurred  horses  foam'd  and  bled. 

vni. 

On  the  south  side,  and  shielded  from  the  sun, 
Rudolphus  built  a  tribune,  and  made  seats, 
Where  guests  might  sit  and  see  the  races  run, 
And  mark  the  skill  displayed  in  various  feats 
Of  wrestlers,  vaulters,  all  well-trained  athletes. 
Most  eager  these,  from  the  attendant  throng, 
To  gain  that  praise  the  victor  ever  greets, 
When  he  is  hailed  "the  skillful"  or  "the  strong," 
And  hopes  his  deeds  may  live  in  the  rude  peasant's  song. 

—  217  — 


IX. 


As  all  the  preparations  neared  their  end, 
Karl  took  a  hasty  journey  down  the  Rhine; 
And  spent  a  pleasant  day  with  his  warm  friend, 
The  jovial  baron,  Curt  von  Edelstein, 
Whose  mind  he  hoped  with  favor  to  incline 
To  ride  a  tilt  with  him  on  the  great  day ; 
Friendship  and  knightly  sport  would  thus  combine. 
Curt  cheerfully  agreed ;  he  would  array 
Himself  in  his  new  armor  for  the  festive  fray. 


X. 


As  crowning  joy,  September  fifth  now  brought, — 
A  special  script,  in  the  Prince-Bishop's  name; — 
The  dispensation  he  for  them  had  sought. 
Had  come  to  hand.    Henceforth,  no  word  of  shame 
Could  the  bright  honor  of  the  pair  defame. 
He  hoped  to  hear  that  he  might  come  to  bless 
The  marriage,  at  the  church,  and  there  proclaim, 
'Mid  those  who  did  the  Christian  faith  profess. 
This  union  was  permitted  by  His  Holiness! 

-218  — 


XL 


That  day  the  castle  swarmed  with  busy  life; 
Each  nook  and  cranny  held  a  welcome  g^est; 
Directing  all,  Rudolphus  and  his  wife. 
And  Karl  and  Bertha,  had  no  time  for  rest; 
Yet,  their  demeanor  lively  joy  expressed. 
The  youthful  lovers'   sky,  at  last,  was  clear. 
No  longer  kept  a  secret  in  the  breast. 
Their  warm  affection  might  unchecked  appear, 
And  give  a  true  expression  of  their  love  sincere. 


XII. 


Rudolphus  lost  no  time  in  making  known, 
That  soon  his  Karl  and  Bertha  should  be  wed ; 
The  script  from  Mayence  was  most  freely  shown, 
And  satisfied  all  minds.    Naught  could  be  said 
If  from  old  Rome,  the  Pope,  the  church's  Head, 
Consent  had  given  for  the  sacred  rite. 
When  from  the  games,  the  morrow,  Karl  had  led 
Dear  Bertha  home, — to  put  all  doubts  to  flight, — 
Bethrothal  would  take  place ;  'twould  be  a  charming  sight ! 

—  2\q  — 


XIII. 

At  last,  the  birthday  dawned,  the  sky  was  clear ; 
Bright  banners  from  the  battlements  were  hung-; 
The  sombre  castle  joyous  did  appear ; 
The  distant  church-bell,  by  its  clang'rous  tongue, 
Proclaimed  a  cheerful  day  for  old  and  young; 
The  great,  high-altar  was  adorned  with  flowers; 
About  the  family-tombs  fond  garlands  clung; 
The  portals  were  transformed  to  leafy  bowers ; 
And  long  flags  lightly  floated  from  the  lofty  towers. 

» 

XIV. 

Soon  from  the  vassals'  dwellings  a  dense  throng. 
And  all  the  inmates  of  the  grim  stronghold, 
A  gay  procession  made;  which  passed  along 
The  festooned  road ;  meanwhile  the  great  bell  tolled, 
Reminding  all  that  God  their  lives  controlled. 
This  day's  high-mass,  with  all  the  praise  and  prayer, 
Of  far  more  worth  than  pomp,  and  gems,  and  gold, 
Should  bring  a  blessing  to  dear  Karl,  the  heir; 
And  fit  him  well,  for  years  to  come,  to  do  and  dare. 


XV. 


And  now  the  church  could  scarcely  hold  the  crowd ; 
For  all  loved  Karl,  and  wished  for  him  to  pray; 
The  aged,   white-haired  priest,   unwonted   loud, 
Entoned  the  Mass  on  this  auspicious  day; 
And  when,  at  length,  the  Host  he  did  display, 
The  rapt  assembly  knelt  with  one  accord, 
And  holy  joy  each  loving  heart  did  sway. 
Then  up  to  heaven  their  aspirations  soared. 
In  the  Te  Deum,  ancient  chant  to  God,  the  Lord. 


XVI. 


The  mid-day  meal  took  place  without  delay. 
That  all  might  hasten  to  the  ancient  ground, 
Where  varied  sports  should  mark  this  festal  day, 
And  please  the  eager  throng  that  pressed  around. 
Seats  for  the  guests  were  on  the  tribune  found; 
Here,  also,  sat  the  gentle  baroness. 
Attired  with  taste,   her  head  superbly  crowned ; 
And  lovely  Bertha,  clad  in  costly  dress ; 
Whose  gifts  should  be  the  prizes  for  well-earned  success. 


XVII. 

Now  thrice  the  trumpets  signaled  to  begin; 
Then  off  they  started,  twenty  men  most  fleet, 
To  run  a  foot-race  round  the  field,  and  win 
The  plaudits  of  the  crowd.    But,  each  athlete, 
Intensely  anxious  to  avoid  defeat, 
Reserved  his  strength  for  the  supreme  demand. 
Then,  as  the  goal  appeared, — How  swift  the  feet! 
And  the  first  man  who  passed  the  tribune-stand. 
Obtained  a  crimson  sash  bestowed  by  Bertha's  hand. 

XVIII. 

Next,  wiry  wrestlers,  men  diversely  aged, 
One  young  and  tall,  the  other  short  and  old. 
Quick  closed  and  clutched,  and  a  long  struggle  waged ; 
And  each  strove  hard  to  gain  his  favorite  hold; 
Now  wary,  now  alert,  now  sly,  now  bold. 
Then  suddenly,  quicker  than  tongue  can  say. 
The  youth  was  lifted  high,  and  then  was  rolled 
Ten  feet  along  the  ground,  as  if  'twere  play. 
And  thus  the  stalwart  graybeard  won  his  prize  this  day. 


XIX. 

Then  horses  raced,  urged  to  their  utmost  speed ; 
And  heavy  weights  unwonted  far  were  cast ; 
The  archers,  so  the  wondering  crowd  agreed. 
All  former  feats  this  day  by  skill  surpassed. 
And  supple  youths  essayed  the  slippery  mast. 
Six  horses,  side  by  side,  the  vaulters  cleared ; 
Then,  an  ambitious  stripling,  at  the  last. 
Attempting  what  competitors  had  feared, 
Sprang  lightly  over  seven,  and  was  most  loudly  cheered. 


XX. 


Now  Curt  and  Karl  rode  forth  in  armor  bright ; 
Each  with  protected  lance  and  burnished  shield, 
To  joust  as  valiant  knights  in  mimic  fight ; 
With  visors   up,  the  visage  unconcealed; 
Each  seemed  resolved  only  by  force  to  yield. 
To  greet  the  tribune-guests  they  drew  the  rein ; 
Then,  visors  closed,  took  places  on  the  field. 
Each  hoped  he  might  the  prize  of  valor  gain, 
Nor  ever  dreamed  mishap  might  make  the  tourney  vain. 

—  223  — 


XXI. 


At  strident  signal,  spurring  as  for  life, 
The  lances  pointed  for  the  so-called  foe, 
They  rushed  together  in  the  sportive  strife. 
Each  gave  the  other  a  resounding  blow ; 
But,  in  the  stress,  Curt's  splintered  shaft  did  go 
Straight  through  Karl's  helmet's  eye-hole  to  his  brain ; 
He  dropped  his  shield  and  lance,  showed  signs  of  woe, 
Stretched  out  his  arms,  gave  cry  of  mortal  pain, 
And  backwards  from  his  horse  fell  helpless  on  the  plain. 


XXII. 

With  piercing  shriek,  dashing  her  cap  aside, 
Poor  Bertha  rushed  to  where  Karl  wounded  lay ; 
Knelt  in  the  pool  of  blood,  and  vainly  tried, 
To  stanch  the  wound,  her  senses  all  astray. 
She  stroked  the  mailed  hand,  as  if  in  play; 
"Oh !  Karl !  My  love !  one  word !"  she  softly  said,- 
Then,  sight  of  awful  horror  and  dismay, 
She  saw  his  final  gasps, — beheld  him  dead ; 
And,  from  the  fatal  field,  by  tearful  men,  was  led. 


XXIII. 

Meanwhile  Rudolphus,  resolute,  declined 
To  credit  the  dread  verdict  of  his  eyes; — 
But  said, — "Stand  back !    His  bleeding  forehead  bind  ! 
Give  him  at  once  to  drink,  e'en  as  he  lies ! 
Quick !  rub  his  hands  and  feet !    Say  not,  Karl  dies ! 
It  cannot  be !    He  lives ;  'twas  mimic  strife !" 
Then  trusty  vassals  thought  that  it  was  wise, 
To  urge  him  to  console  his  fainting  wife; 
'Twere  well,  could  both  awhile  believe  Karl  still  showed  life. 

XXIV. 

And  now  the  setting  sun  lit  up  the  clouds 
With  colors  all  unfit  for  human  woe ; 
And,  'mid  the  splendour,  followed  by  great  crowds, 
The  stricken  vassals,  while  their  tears  did  flow, 
The  dead  man  homeward  bore.    Their  steps  were  slow. 
First,  upwards,  'neath  the  forest's  gloomy  shade ; 
Then,  past  the  church,  with  heavy  hearts  they  go ; 
Downwards,  the  festooned  road  its  mockery  made; 
Then,  in  the  castle,  on  Karl's  bed,  his  corpse  was  laid. 

—  225  — 


CANTO   VIII. 


I. 


Two  days  passed  by  in  grief  beyond  control ; 
Karl  to  his  grave,  beside  his  sires,  was  brought; 
Then  prayers  were  chanted  for  his  deathless  soul, 
And  aid  from  saints  and  angel-hosts  besought. 
The  priest  then  spake,  oppressed  by  painful  thought ; 
"Let  us  take  heed!    What  now  does  God  require? 
Shall  the  dread  Judge  of  all  afflict  for  naught  ? 
If  Karl's  untimely  end  proves  Heaven's  just  ire. 
Can  sinners  such  as  we  to  endless  joys  aspire?" 


IL 


Then  the  good,  holy  man,  with  streaming  eyes, 
In  sorrow  looked  upon  the  weeping  crowd; 
His  fait' ring  voice  broken  by  heartfelt  sighs; 
He,  with  an  effort,  spake  once  more  aloud ; — 
"God  calls  us  now  to  pass  through  a  dark  cloud; 
His  hand  divine  inflicts  no  needless  pain ; 
Beneath  His  righteous  wrath  our  souls  are  bow'd ; 
But,  by  repentance,  we  may  rise  again; 
Then,  our  beloved  Karl  will  not  have  died  in  vain." 

—  226  — 


III. 


Rudolphus  shared  completely  the  priest's  view ; 
Afflictions  came,  he  thought,  from  God's  own  hand. 
That  he  had  deeply  sinned,  he  felt  was  true; 
A  curse  had  fall'n  on  him,  his  house,  his  land ; 
What  mortal  could  an  angry  God  withstand ! 
His  spirit  broken,  he  was  sore  afraid; 
He  changed  his  life ;  obeyed  the  priest's  command ; 
Oft,  henceforth,  at  the  grave  where  Karl  was  laid, 
He,  with  his  wife  and  Bertha,  humbly  wept  and  prayed. 


IV. 


The  baroness,  when  struck  the  fearful  blow, 
Felt  that  her  heart  would  never  cease  to  bleed; 
Yet,  she  continued  sympathy  to  show, 
To  Bertha  and  Rudolphus  in  their  need, 
And  for  them  both,  God's  promises  did  plead. 
Then  by  redoubled  works  for  sick  and  poor, 
A  life  of  usefulness  she  strove  to  lead; 
Like  saints  of  old,  who  did  by  faith  endure; 
And  found  the  woes  of  life     had  gain'd  a  heavenly  cure. 

—  227  — 


With  fever'd  brain,  caused  by  Karl's  frightful  end, 
Poor  Bertha  raved ;  'twas  feared  that  she  might  die ; 
But,  on  the  fifth  day,  she  began  to  mend, 
And  strength  increased  as  each  new  day  passed  by. 
From  her  full  heart,  whene'er  her  aunt  drew  nigh. 
She  spake  of  Karl,  and  shed  abundant  tears. 
No  doubt  a  curse  had  fallen  from  the  sky ; 
The  priest  had  spoken,  moved  by  holy  fears; 
Her  task  should  expiation  be  through  coming  years. 


VI. 


The  lapse  of  many  years  great  changes  showed ; 
Rudolphus  was  succeeded  by  his  heir; 
The  Rhine,  unvexed  by  tolls,  in  freedom  flowed ; 
The  stronghold   was  untenanted  and  bare. 
Near  the  old  church,  by  Bertha's  wealth  and  care, 
A  large,  new,  Benedictine  convent  stood; 
This  holy  house,  a  refuge  from  despair ; 
Here,  widely  known  as  generous  and  good, 
The  abbess.  Bertha,  ruled  the  pious  sisterhood. 

—  2a8  — 


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